ITH  SERBIA 
D   EXILE 


OR 


3 


STf 


WITH  SERBIA  INTO 
EXILE 


WITH  SERBIA  INTO 
EXILE 


AN  AMERICAN'S  ADVENTURES  WITH 
THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE 


BY 

FORTIER  JONES 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH 
PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Publish**,  August.  1916 


MADE  IN  U.  •   A. 


TO 

THE  MEMORY 
OF 

THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA 

THIS  BOOK 
IS  REVERENTLY  DEDICATED 


'Grow  old  along  toith  me! 
The  best  it  vet  to  be  .  .  .  " 


343105 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE 3 

II    THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA 52 

III  EVACUATION  SCENES 74 

IV  GETTING  AWAY .96 

V    SPY  FEVER 140 

VI    ALONG  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR 176 

VII    ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS" 205 

VIII    BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE 245 

IX    PRIZREND 290 

X    THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE 301 

XI    OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS 351 

XII  WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME  .                                 .  392 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Serbian  peasants  fleeing  from  their  homes  before  the 

approaching  Germans Frontispiece 

Miss  Eden's  Bosnian  expedition 6 

A  Bosnian  refugee  boy 15 

Soldiers  from  the  Drina  trenches  receiving  their  daily  allowance 

of  bread .  15 

A  Serbian  peasant's  home 38 

A  bridge  built  by  the  Romans  at  Ouchitze  and  still  in  perfect 

condition 38 

A  Cheecha  and  his  dwelling.  One  of  the  numerous  guards 

along  the  Orient  Railway 55 

Wounded  Cheechas  being  transported  to  a  hospital  ....  65 
A  Cheecha  flashing  army  dispatches  by  means  of  a  heliograph  65 
We  arrived  at  the  Colonel's  headquarters  wet,  cold,  and  very 

hungry  92 

Refugee  family  from  the  frontier  driving  all  their  possessions 

through  a  street  in  Valjevo 92 

"A  man  does  not  die  a  hundred  times,"  said  the  Little  Sergeant  101 
Mme.  Christitch  distributing  relief  supplies  at  Valjevo  .  .  .  101 

The  refugees  at  Chupriya Ill 

Tichomir  and  some  of  his  relatives 118 

General  Putnik,  Serbia's  oldest  general,  and  a  popular  hero  .  .118 
Misses  Helsby,  Spooner,  and  Magnussen  in  the  author's  car  .  .  127 

The  departure  became  an  exodus 150 

Serbians  about  to  be  shot  as  spies  by  the  victorious  Austrians  .  167 

Rashka  in  the  valley  of  the  Ibar 167 

Crown  Prince  Alexander  of  Serbia 186 

After  the  blizzard  in  the  Ibar  valley 186 

A  silhouette  against  the  hills  moving  as  in  a  pageant  .  .  .  203 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Long  trains  of  oxen  were  pulling  the  big  guns  from  the  camps 

along  the  wayside 213 

In  many  places  on  Kossovo  swift  torrents  swept  across  the  road  213 
Kossovo  stretched  away  in  the  dreariest  expanse  imaginable  .  .  234 

Now  and  then  the  storm  lifted  its  snow  veil 224 

Last  night  I  found  no  shelter,  but  followed  the  ox-carts  to  a 

camp  outside  the  town 241 

A  group  of  transport  drivers 267 

What  had  been  a  country  was  now  a  desert 267 

Where  the  Bulgarians  threatened  the  road 285 

King  Peter  of  Serbia 303 

Prizrend  from  the  river  bank 303 

Soldiers  of  Serbia .  .  318 

The  army  that  cannot  die 327 

A  Serbian  gun  just  before  it  was  blown  up  at  Ipek  ....  341 

The  beginning  of  the  mountain  trail  above  Ipek 356 

Trackless  mountains  of  Albania 365 

A  mountain  home  in  Montenegro 365 

Albanians  of  the  type  who  murdered  the  refugees 371 

"Mon  cher  Capitaine" 376 

King  Peter  and  a  party  of  refugees  crossing  a  bridge  in  the 

Albanian  Alps 385 

The  only  street  in  San  Giovanni  di  Medua 396 

The  forty  British  women  of  the  Stobart  mission  waiting  for  the 

boat  at  Plavitnitze 396 

The  ancient  fortress  at  Scutari 405 

Admiral  Trowbridge  speaking  with  English  women  in  front  of 

the  British  consulate  at  Scutari 419 

Albanian  chiefs  assembled  at  Durazzo  to  aid  Essad  Pacha 

against  the  Austrians 437 


WITH  SERBIA  INTO 
EXILE 


WITH  SERBIA  INTO 
EXILE 

CHAPTER  I 

BATTLE  LINES  AT   PEACE 

1HAVE  to  thank  a  man  on  a  Broadway  ex- 
press for  the  fact  that  at  the  close  of  Septem- 
ber, 1915, 1  found  myself  in  a  remote  valley  of  the 
Bosnian  mountains.  The  preceding  June  this 
person,  unknown  to  me,  threw  a  day-old  newspaper 
at  my  feet,  and  because  it  fell  right  side  up,  I  be- 
came aware  that  men  were  wanted  to  do  relief  work 
in  Serbia.  In  an  hour  I  had  become  a  part  of  the 
expedition,  in  a  week  I  had  been  "filled  full"  of 
small-pox,  typhus,  and  typhoid  vaccines  and 
serums.  Three  weeks  more  found  me  at  Gibraltar 
enduring  the  searching,  and  not  altogether  amica- 
ble, examination  of  a  young  British  officer,  and 
within  a  month  I  was  happily  rowing  with  hotel- 
keepers  in  Saloniki,  having  just  learned  in  the  voy- 
age across  the  Mediterranean  that  submarines  were 


4  WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

at  work  in  that  region.  With  a  swiftness  that  left 
little  time  for  consideration  the  next  few  weeks 
passed  in  camp  organization  at  Nish,  in  praying 
that  our  long-delayed  automobiles  would  come,  and 
in  getting  acquainted  with  a  country  about  which  I 
had  found  but  little  trustworthy  information  in 
America. 

Then  because  an  English  woman,  Miss  Sybil 
Eden,  with  the  intrepidity  and  clear-sightedness 
which  I  later  found  characteristic  of  British  women, 
decided  that  relief  must  be  carried  where,  on  ac- 
count of  great  transportation  difficulties,  it  had 
never  been  before,  I  spent  six  wonderful  weeks 
among  the  magnificent  mountains  of  Bosnia  at  the 
tiny  village  of  Dobrun. 

On  a  certain  day  near  the  end  of  this  sojourn  my 
story  of  the  great  retreat  properly  begins.  I  sat 
chatting  with  a  Serbian  captain  of  engineers 
beside  a  mountain  stream  six  miles  behind  the 
Drina  River,  where  for  almost  a  year  two  hostile 
armies  had  sat  face  to  face,  watching  intently  but 
fighting  rarely.  It  was  a  beautiful  day,  typical  of 
the  Bosnian  autumn.  The  sunshine  was  delight- 
fully warm  and  drowsy ;  the  pines  along  the  rugged 
slopes  above  us  showed  dull  green  and  restful, 
while  the  chestnut-grove  near  which  we  sat  show- 


( 

•';.';*,  "  '  ; 


•§ 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE          7 

ered  hosts  of  saffron  leaves  into  the  clear  stream  at 
our  feet.  Overhead  an  almost  purple  sky  was 
flecked  with  fluffy  clouds  that  sailed  lazily  by. 
Peace  filled  the  Dobrun  valley,  peace  rested  un- 
naturally, uncannily  over  the  length  and  breadth  of 
beautiful  Serbia,  and  our  talk  had  been  of  the 
preceding  months  of  quiet,  unbroken  except  for 
vague,  disturbing  rumors  that  were  now  taking 
more  definite  form  and  causing  the  captain  grave 
concern. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  little  valley  ran  the  nar- 
row-gage railway  which  bridged  the  roadless  gap 
between  Vishegrad,  on  the  Drina,  and  Vardishte, 
the  frontier  post  between  Serbia  and  Bosnia.  It 
was  down-grade  all  the  way  from  Vardishte  to 
Vishegrad,  which  was  fortunate,  for  the  Austrians 
had  smashed  all  locomotives  before  they  retreated, 
and  Serbia  had  been  unable  to  get  any  more  over 
the  mountains  to  this  isolated  little  railway.  As 
we  talked,  two  large  trucks  thundered  by  loaded 
high  with  the  round,  one-kilogram  loaves  of  bread 
that  were  baked  at  Vardishte,  and  thus  sent  down 
daily  to  the  men  in  the  Drina  trenches.  Ox-teams 
had  laboriously  to  pull  these  trucks  back  again  to 
the  bakeries.  A  truck  filled  to  a  wonderful  height 
with  new-mown  hay  for  the  oxen  at  Vardishte  now 


8  WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

stood  on  a  siding  to  let  the  bread-train  go  by.  It 
looked  very  queer  being  pulled  along  the  railway 
track  like  a  farm- wagon  by  ten  teams  of  huge  oxen. 
From  the  army  blacksmith's  shop  near  by  came  the 
pleasant  sound  of  ringing  steel  as  the  peasant 
smiths  fashioned  shoes  for  the  cavalry  horses,  and 
the  steady  rat-tat-tat  of  hammers  came  from  down 
the  river  where  the  army  engineers  with  the  simplest 
sort  of  tools  were  constructing  a  permanent  bridge 
to  replace  the  one  destroyed  by  the  retreating 
enemy.  Some  refugee  children,  in  filthy  rags  and 
suffering  from  scurvy,  splashed  about  in  the  creek, 
shouting  and  laughing  as  if  there  were  nothing  in 
all  the  world  but  sunshine  and  sparkling  water.  It 
was  hard  to  think  that  less  than  six  miles  away,  be- 
yond two  thin  lines  of  trenches  and  a  rushing  river, 
the  sway  of  the  great  war  lord  began  and  stretched 
unbroken  to  Berlin. 

The  evening  before  we  had  gone  down  to  Vishe- 
grad  to  see  the  trenches.  One  always  had  to 
choose  the  darkness  for  these  visits,  because  the 
Austrian  guns  from  an  impregnable  position  across 
the  river  commanded  all  approaches  to  Vishegrad. 
Only  under  cover  of  the  night  were  we  allowed  to 
venture  in,  although  Serbian  soldiers  came  and 
went  throughout  the  daylight  hours  by  devious 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE          9 

paths  known  only  to  themselves.  To  get  there  one 
had  to  mount  a  hand  car — "wagonette,"  the  officers 
called  it — take  off  the  brake,  and  sit  clear  of  the 
handles.  Starting  at  a  snail's  pace,  we  soon  gath- 
ered very  creditable  speed,  and  shot  through  tunnel 
after  tunnel  without  lights,  but  whooping  at  the 
top  of  our  voices  to  warn  any  unwary  pedestrian 
who  might  be  on  the  track. 

Along  the  beautiful  mountain  gorge  we  sped, 
sometimes  by  the  river-bank,  sometimes  hundreds 
of  feet  above  the  torrent,  along  walls  of  solid  ma- 
sonry built  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  canon.  The 
stars  came  out,  and  a  full  moon  was  rising  over  the 
eastern  mountains  as  we  flashed  through  a  last  long 
tunnel  and  brought  the  car  to  a  stop  in  a  weed- 
grown  railway  yard.  The  commandant  of  the 
place  and  a  group  of  officers  welcomed  us  in  sub- 
dued tones,  and  we  set  off  down  the  rusty  tracks 
toward  the  town.  Thoughtlessly  a  companion 
stuck  a  cigarette  into  his  mouth  and  struck  a  match. 
No  sooner  had  it  flashed  than  a  large  hand  slid  over 
his  shoulder  and  crushed  the  flame,  while  an  officer 
in  polished  French  begged  that  monsieur  would 
forgo  smoking  for  a  little  while.  Brief  as  the  flash 
of  light  had  been,  this  request  was  punctuated  by 
the  whiz  of  a  rifle-bullet  overhead  and  a  distant 


10         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

report  on  the  forbidding-looking  slope  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  river. 

Stepping  carefully,  we  came  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion, a  large  building  that  had  just  been  completed 
before  the  war  began,  but  now  a  pile  of  empty  walls 
through  many  jagged  holes  in  which  the  moonlight 
poured. 

We  came  into  what  had  been  the  town.  In  the 
moonlight  it  looked  just  like  Pompeii.  Whole  por- 
tions of  it  had  been  pounded  to  ruins  in  successive 
bombardments,  but  now  and  then,  due  to  the  con- 
formation of  the  terrain,  patches  of  buildings  had 
escaped  uninjured,  being  out  of  range  of  the  high- 
perched  Austrian  guns.  There  was  deathly  silence, 
which  we  dared  not  break  except  with  guarded 
whispers,  and  distantly  the  rush  of  the  Drina  could 
be  heard. 

Beckoning  me  from  the  rest  of  the  party,  a  former 
resident  of  Vishegrad,  a  druggist,  led  me  up  a  side 
street  and  by  a  back  court  into  a  ruined  apothecary 
shop.  Here  I  could  use  my  pocket  flash-light  to 
advantage.  For  months  the  shop  had  been  unoccu- 
pied, yet  there  was  a  curious  appearance  of  the  pro- 
prietor having  just  stepped  out.  After  demolish- 
ing the  houses  that  adjoined  it,  a  shell  of  large 
caliber  had  burst  in  the  front  entrance  of  the  shop. 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         11 

All  the  well-filled  shelves  at  that  end  were  blown 
to  splinters,  and  drugs  and  glass  were  scattered 
over  the  place  in  a  fine  powder.  But  on  the  jagged 
end  of  one  of  these  shelves  a  large  bottle  of  pink 
pills  stood  jauntily,  and  below  it  hung  a  barometer 
filled  with  purple  liquid,  absolutely  untouched. 
There  was  a  glass  case  of  tooth  brushes  standing  in 
the  center,  with  debris  piled  two  feet  deep  around  it. 
On  the  prescription-counter  at  my  right  a  set  of 
druggist's  scales  stood,  delicately  balanced,  some 
unfinished  prescription  in  one  pan  and  weights  in 
the  other.  Hanging  from  the  torn  edge  of  the  ceil- 
ing a  pulchrious  maiden  in  strong  flesh  tints  hailed 
the  rising  sun,  across  the  face  of  which  the  name  of 
a  German  shampoo  was  spread,  while  she  luxuri- 
ously combed  straw-colored  locks  of  great  abun- 
dance. I  flashed  the  light  here  and  there,  revealing 
these  curious  freaks  of  chance,  and  suddenly  just 
at  my  feet  I  saw  something  gleam  white.  I 
stooped,  and  picked  up  a  small  handkerchief  of 
filmy  lace,  crumpled  as  if  it  had  been  tightly 
gripped  in  a  little  hand.  As  I  shook  it  out  a  faint 
odor  of  violet  perfume  rose,  bringing  as  nothing 
else  could  the  sense  of  tragic  change  between  the 
tense  moments  of  Europe  at  that  hour  and  those 
far-off,  happy  days  when  youth  and  lace  and  violet 


12         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

perfume  went  their  careless  way  together  through 
the  streets  of  Vishegrad. 

Emerging  into  the  ruined,  moonlit  street,  we 
found  our  party  had  disappeared,  but  just  ahead 
were  two  of  our  soldiers.  With  these  as  guides, 
we  stole  with  increasing  care  to  a  spot  near  the 
river-bank  where  some  trees  cast  a  black  shade. 
From  this  vantage-point  we  could  see  clearly  the 
ancient  stone  bridge  about  one  hundred  yards 
away.  It  is  a  beautiful  bridge,  more  than  five  hun- 
dred years  old,  and  consists  of  eleven  arches,  which 
evenly  decrease  in  size  from  the  middle  one  until 
they  melt  into  solid  masonry  on  each  bank.  The 
central  arches  were  blown  away  at  the  beginning 
of  hostilities,  and  in  the  moonlight  the  two  remnants 
jutted  out  into  the  river  like  facsimiles  of  the  fa- 
mous pile  at  Avignon. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  I  dined  at  a  sheltered 
house  less  than  two  hundred  yards  from  the  Aus- 
trian trenches,  in  a  comfortable  sitting-room,  I 
smoked  Austrian  cigarettes  and  drank  beer  from 
Sarajevo  while  a  companion  played  American  rag- 
time on  a  grand  piano.  At  the  same  time,  I  fancy, 
behind  the  Austrian  trenches  the  officers  were 
smoking  Serbian  cigarettes  and  drinking  Serbian 
wine.  For  until  a  day  or  so  previously  there  had 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         13 

been  a  truce  lasting  several  weeks,  and  across  the 
gap  in  the  blown-up  bridge  the  two  hostile  com- 
manders had  exchanged  delicacies  and  greetings 
by  means  of  an  old  tin  pail  hung  on  a  rope.  New 
troops  had  come  to  the  other  side,  however,  and 
the  truce  had  ended  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun. 
At  the  approach  to  the  bridge  a  guard  was  always 
kept,  and  to  shield  the  men,  while  changing  this 
guard,  a  rough  wall  of  corrugated  iron  had  been 
constructed  for  about  fifty  yards  from  the  end  of 
a  trench  to  the  sheltered  position  on  the  bridge. 
Toward  this  barrier  we  now  crept  until  we  were 
leaning  against  it  and  could  peep  over  at  the  river 
just  below  us,  dimly  across  which  we  could  see  the 
earthworks  of  the  Austrians,  where  we  knew  silent 
watchers  were  tirelessly  waiting  night  and  day, 
alert  to  kill  some  enemy.  It  gave  one  a  peculiar 
feeling,  that  sense  of  myriads  of  human  beings 
peeking  at  one  another  behind  dirt  banks  with 
rifles  poised  and  ringers  on  the  triggers.  It  is  the 
new  warfare,  the  sort  that  this  war  has  brought  to 
high  perfection. 

My  interest  was  such  that  I  leaned  too  eagerly 
upon  my  sheltering  sheet  of  iron.  With  what  I 
am  sure  is  the  very  loudest  clangor  I  shall  ever 
hear,  it  tumbled  away  from  me,  and  fell  into  the 


14         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

river.  The  clash  echoed  and  reechoed  through  the 
silent  town  and  up  the  valley.  If  I  had  pulled 
Schonbrunn  crashing  down  about  my  ears,  I  could 
not  have 'felt  more  conspicuous.  Also  I  became 
aware  that  I  was  standing  up  there  in  the  moon- 
light with  nothing  whatever  between  me  and  war, 
and  I  lost  no  time  in  placing  the  rest  of  the  wall 
between  that  stern  reality  and  myself.  The  oppo- 
site bank  was  as  silent  as  before;  not  a  rifle  rang 
out.  The  soldiers  in  the  trenches  near  by  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  it,  but  we  soon  had  another 
piece  of  iron  in  the  place  of  the  one  that  had  fallen. 
One  of  the  sentries  said  he  supposed  it  made  such  a 
dreadful  row  that  the  boys  across  the  way  thought 
some  trick  was  being  played  on  them. 

Such  tricks  as  this  were  more  or  less  common. 
On  one  occasion,  after  two  or  three  weeks  of  ab- 
solute quiet,  a  violent  artillery  and  rifle  engage- 
ment was  precipitated  when  some  Serbian  wags 
tied  tin  cans  to  the  tails  of  two  dogs,  and  set  them 
off  down  the  trail  in  front  of  the  Serbian  trenches. 
The  dogs  kicked  up  a  great  noise  for  a  couple  of 
miles,  and  the  Austrians,  thinking  an  attempt  to 
cross  the  river  was  in  progress,  rained  shot  and 
shell  for  hours  along  the  two-mile  front,  while  the 
Serbians  sat  snugly  in  their  trenches.  The  dogs 


A  Bosnian  refugee  boy 


Soldiers  from  the  Drina  trenches  receiving  their  daily  allowance 
of  bread 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        17 

were  unhurt.  Also,  if  one  was  to  believe  report, 
the  commandant  at  Vishegrad  knew  to  a  nicety 
what  was  going  on  in  the  enemy  trenches.  Every 
other  night  an  Austrian  officer  of  high  rank  was 
said  to  row  across  the  river  at  a  secluded  spot  and 
make  a  full  report  to  the  Serbians  as  to  the  number, 
nationality,  and  intention  of  the  forces  in  his 
trenches.  It  is  quite  reasonable  to  believe  this  is 
true,  and  also  that  the  Austrians  were  equally  well 
informed  as  to  what  went  on  in  Vishegrad. 

After  dining  with  the  commandant,  we  were 
asked  if  we  would  like  to  see  a  "potato  ball,"  which 
the  soldiers  and  village  maidens  were  holding  at  a 
small  cafe  in  one  of  the  islands  of  safety.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  bizarre  than  a  ball,  even  a 
"potato  ball,"  in  that  crumbling  city,  so  we  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  with  interest.  Again  we 
sneaked  through  the  melancholy  streets,  making 
detours  around  huge  holes  that  bursting  shells  had 
dug  and  piles  of  debris  from  fallen  buildings. 
We  entered  a  large,  square  room  jammed  full  of 
people  except  for  a  clear  space  in  the  middle. 
Heavy  black  cloths  draped  all  openings,  so  that  no 
ray  of  light  shone  outside.  Everything  was  shut 
tight,  causing  the  air  to  grow  vile,  full  of  cigarette 
smoke  and  the  odor  of  the  dim  kerosene  lamps  that 


18         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

lighted  the  place.  At  one  end  of  the  room  a  jolly- 
looking,  middle-aged  woman  bent  over  a  stove, 
making  Turkish  coffee  which  she  dispensed  copi- 
ously. On  our  entrance  she  came  forward,  secured 
us  chairs,  and  smilingly  brought  us  trays  of  her 
very  excellent  coffee. 

The  hubbub  had  stopped  when  the  officers  ap- 
peared with  us,  and  I  looked  about  on  the  silent, 
curious  faces  that  peered  at  me.  They  were  mostly 
young  soldiers  and  girls.  Among  the  latter  I  rec- 
ognized some  who  had  come  to  our  relief  station 
the  day  before  destitute  of  food  and  clothing. 
Many  of  these  young  people,  clinging  tenaciously 
to  the  ruins  of  their  homes,  were  the  last  remnants 
of  families  that  the  war  had  blotted  out.  The  sol- 
diers had  the  mud  of  the  trenches  on  their  clothes, 
and  on  their  faces  the  smiles  of  young  fellows  out 
for  a  night  of  it.  A  little  way  across  the  river  the 
enemy  watched,  or  perhaps  they,  too,  were  dancing, 
for  the  width  of  a  trench  does  not  change  human 
nature.  At  a  few  words  from  the  officers,  the 
leading  spirits  overcame  their  diffidence  and  forced 
the  old  fiddler,  who  sat  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  with 
his  feet  on  the  seat,  to  strike  up  a  favorite  dance. 
The  boys  fell  into  line,  and,  passing  the  group  of 
girls,  each  chose  a  partner  for  the  simple,  crude, 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         19 

happy  dance  that  followed.  Plaintively  pounding 
out  the  rhythm,  the  fiddler  fiddled,  perspiration 
poured  from  the  gallant  young  soldiers,  the  maid- 
ens' faces  flushed  with  the  quickened  dance,  the 
atmosphere  grew  unbearably  hot  and  heavy,  and 
shrill,  care-free  laughter  filled  the  room.  So  Pier- 
rot danced  his  brief  hours  away  in  the  stricken  city. 

In  the  small  hours  of  morning  we  made  our  weary 
march  back  to  Dobrun,  for  it  was  up-grade  now, 
and  easier  to  walk  than  to  work  the  hand  car. 

Talking  to  the  captain  there  on  the  river-bank, 
I  remarked  that  this  year  of  peace  in  war  seemed 
strange  to  me.  When  first  I  came  to  Serbia  in 
July  I  had  heard  a  rumor  of  a  great  Teutonic 
drive  through  the  country.  Mackensen  had  massed 
half  a  million  men  along  the  Danube,  it  was 
said,  and  German  troops  were  coming.  The  Aus- 
trian commander  would  lead,  and  the  way  to  Con- 
stantinople up  the  Morava  valley  would  be  opened 
with  Bulgaria's  aid.  But  everywhere  things  were 
quiet.  Along  the  Save  and  the  Danube  affairs 
might  not  be  so  sociable  as  at  Vishegrad,  but  were 
just  as  peaceful.  As  I  knew  her  last  summer, 
Serbia  was  a  land  of  pleasant  places.  There  was 
still  destitution  among  her  refugees,  but  the  traces 
of  war  were  fast  being  obliterated.  For  a  year  she 


20         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

had  been  resting,  merely  toying  with  war,  building 
up  her  army  in  every  possible  way  after  its  won- 
derful victory  against  an  invading  force  that  out- 
numbered it  three  to  one. 

A  few  weeks  earlier,  at  Semendria,  now  immor- 
tal in  Serbian  history,  I  had  lunched  in  full  sight  of 
the  Austrian  guns.  I  recall  the  sleepy  medieval 
street,  the  beautiful  Danube,  with  vineyard-draped 
banks,  yellow  with  sunshine,  purple  with  grapes. 
I  remember,  with  a  feeling  of  unreality  now,  the 
charming,  simple  hospitality  of  the  prefect  as  he 
came  to  greet  us,  perfectly  attired  in  morning  cos- 
tume, and  off ered  us  a  good  lunch  of  the  dishes  of 
old  Serbia,  with  excellent  wine.  I  was  motoring 
on  an  inspection  tour  with  Mr.  Walter  Mallory, 
leader  of  the  Columbia  University  Relief  Expedi- 
tion, and  M.  Todolich  of  the  Interior  Department, 
supervisor  of  Serbia's  gendarmerie.  These  gen- 
darmes, because  of  certain  disabilities,  could  not 
serve  in  the  regular  army,  but  were  drafted  into 
the  police  force.  When  destruction  fell  on  Bel- 
grade, it  found  the  trenches  held  mainly  by  these 
men  who  could  not  be  real  soldiers.  They  held 
those  trenches  for  two  horrible  days  while  fire  fell 
like  snow  on  the  city,  held  them  until  there  were  no 
trenches  to  hold,  and  those  that  were  left  fought 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         21 

the  enemy  through  the  streets  of  their  beautiful 
little  capital.  From  home  to  home  they  retreated 
until  none  was  left  to  retreat,  only  piles  of  blue- 
coated  bodies  that  with  the  thousands  of  dead  civil- 
ians littered  the  streets.  They  knew  they  could 
not  hold  the  city.  It  was  merely  a  delaying  action 
until  the  army  could  take  up  new  positions,  one  of 
those  rear-guard  engagements  so  common  in  Bel- 
gium and  France  when  the  German  army  was 
sweeping  on,  in  which  the  men  who  stayed  behind 
faced  sure  defeat  and  certain  death. 

It  was  just  about  two  months  before  this  hap- 
pened that  we  three,  with  a  Serbian  interpreter, 
left  Nish  at  three  o'clock  one  morning  in  the  midst 
of  a  violent  storm.  There  was  a  gale  blowing,  and 
rain  was  falling  in  solid  sheets  as  our  car  pluckily 
splashed  through  mud  above  the  axles  on  the  road 
down  the  Morava  valley  to  Alexinats.  Motoring 
in  Serbia  is  a  strenuous  occupation.  If  one  makes 
forty  or  fifty  miles  a  day,  one  has  done  well. 
Shortly  out  of  Nish,  one  of  our  mud-guard  sup- 
ports snapped,  and  could  not  be  mended.  It  meant 
that  the  whole  guard  had  to  come  off,  and  that 
meant  some  one  must  "get  out  and  get  under"  to 
unscrew  the  taps.  For  a  mile  we  dragged  along, 
looking  for  a  dry  place.  There  was  no  such  thing 


22       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

in  Serbia  at  the  moment,  I  think,  so  at  last  I 
crawled  under  the  car  and  did  the  job,  lying  in 
slush  several  inches  deep  which  did  not  improve 
my  appearance.  M.  Todolich  spoke  not  a  word  of 
English  when  we  started,  but,  after  a  few  blow- 
outs, carburetor  troubles,  etc.,  he  had  learned  some. 

"How  is  it  now?"  Mallory  would  frequently  ask 
me,  and  my  short  "All  right"  seemed  to  amuse  M. 
Todolich  greatly.  Soon  at  each  stop  he  was 
piping: 

"How  ees  it  naw,  Guspodin  Yones?  Awlright, 
eh?" 

I  knew  next  to  nothing  about  the  inner  mysteries 
of  an  automobile,  but  am  sure  I  impressed  our 
Serbian  guest  with  that  "All  right."  Soon  he  be- 
came exasperating  as  troubles  increased  and  muddy 
disappearances  under  the  car  became  more  fre- 
quent. "Awlright,  awlright,"  he  would  peep  over 
and  over  again,  as  if  it  were  the  greatest  joke  in 
the  world.  Once,  when  I  was  at  the  wheel,  we 
were  starting  down  a  very  steep  incline,  and  com- 
ing to  a  sharp  "switchback,"  the  brakes  did  not 
hold,  and  I  had  to  take  the  hair-pin  turn  at  an 
awful  speed.  For  a  minute  the  car  simply  danced 
on  its  front  wheels  along  the  edge  of  a  high  cliff. 
Then  I  got  past  the  curve  and  into  the  road  again. 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        23 

I  glanced  back,  and  saw  "Nick,"  our  interpreter, 
hanging  far  over  toward  the  landward  side,  tongue 
sticking  out  and  eyes  staring;  but  M.  Todolich  was 
huddled  unconcernedly  in  his  corner,  and  flung 
out  "Awlright"  at  me,  as  if  I  had  n't  scared  us  all 
to  death. 

After  a  while  the  rain  stopped,  and  we  made 
good  time  on  the  perfectly  level  road  that  runs 
along  the  broad  floor  of  the  Morava  valley,  which 
many  ages  ago  served  as  an  easy  highway  for  the 
Third  Crusade.  For  miles  on  each  side  stretched 
smooth  fields  of  Indian  corn,  small  grains,  and 
magnificent  truck-gardens.  Despite  the  primitive 
methods  of  agriculture,  the  Morava  valley,  which 
runs  almost  the  length  of  Serbia,  is  one  great  garden 
plot,  and  is  as  beautiful  and  fertile  as  the  valley  of 
the  Loire,  in  France.  Last  summer,  viewing  this 
valley  and  its  lesser  counterparts  along  the  Mlava, 
the  Timok,  and  in  the  Stig  country,  the  possibility 
of  famine  in  such  a  rich  land  seemed  too  remote  to 
consider.  There  were  many  workers  in  the  fields, 
but  all  were  women  and  children.  It  was  they  who 
gathered  the  ripened  corn  into  the  primitive  ox- 
carts, reaped  with  scythes  the  waving  wheat  and 
rye,  or  plowed  with  wooden  shares  the  rich,  black 
loam.  Women  drove  the  farm  stock  along  the 


24       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

highways,  women  filled  the  market-places  in  every 
village,  and  women  for  the  most  part  waited  upon 
us  in  the  cafes.  Almost  the  only  men  we  saw  were 
the  lonely  cheechas  sparsely  scattered  along  the 
railway  to  guard  the  bridges  from  the  spies  that 
lurked  everywhere.  We  passed  many  prosperous 
villages  in  which,  with  the  exception  of  the  scarcity 
of  men,  life  seemed  to  move  on  as  prosaically  as  in 
times  of  peace.  We  stopped  and  looked  over  the 
large  sugar  mills  at  Chupriya,  now  silent  on  ac- 
count of  the  war  and  the  scarcity  of  labor,  and  we 
passed  some  of  Serbia's  best  coal-mines.  Finally, 
at  dusk,  we  came  to  Polanka  through  a  narrow 
road  where  the  mud  was  so  bad  that  we  had  to  be 
hauled  out. 

The  inns  of  Serbia  are  never  luxurious  and  not 
always  clean.  The  one  we  found  at  Polanka  was 
no  exception.  Mallory  and  I  shared  a  room  on  the 
ground  floor.  It  had  a  single  large  window  over- 
looking the  sidewalk  at  a  height  of  about  seven 
feet.  We  retired  early  and,  being  worn  out,  slept 
soundly.  I  was  awakened  next  morning  by 
"Nick's"  unmusical  voice,  saying,  "Meester  Yones, 
eet  ees  time  to  get  up."  A  minute  I  lay  in  bed 
rubbing  my  eyes,  trying  to  recall  where  I  was,  then 
I  decided  to  take  revenge  on  Mallory. 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        25 

"Mallory,"  I  shouted,  "get  up  at  once!  Don't 
you  know  it's  terribly  late?" 

But  Mallory  was  already  dressing.  I  cast  a 
glance  about  the  room,  carelessly  at  first,  then  with 
an  interest  that  quickly  turned  to  anxiety. 

"Mallory,"  I  sternly  demanded,  "where  are  my 
clothes?"  He  looked  up  unconcernedly,  took  in 
the  room  at  a  glance,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Why,  how  should  I  know?  I  'm  not  your 
valet,"  he  said.  "Look  behind  the  wash-stand  or 
under  your  bed.  The  rackiya  we  had  for  dinner 
may  have  been  stronger  than  I  supposed." 

Loath  as  I  was  to  admit  this  insinuation,  I 
looked,  but  with  no  success.  Then  I  gradually  re- 
membered where  I  had  placed  them  the  night  be- 
fore, but  I  would  not  admit  the  horrible  suspicion 
that  arose. 

"Mallory,  if  you  do  not  produce  my  trousers  at 
once,  I  '11  cable  the  President.  A  man  of  your 
age  should  know  that  a  sovereign  American  citizen 
cannot  suffer  these  indignities  in  foreign  lands 
without — "  But  my  ultimatum  was  cut  short  by 
Nick,  who  thrust  his  ridiculous  head  in  at  the  door. 

"Meester  Yones,  the  hotel  maid  wants  to  know 
eef  thees  ees  yours,"  he  happily  interrogated,  hold- 
ing up  a  garment.  "And,  een  addition,  thees  and 


26       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

thees  and  thees,"  and  he  held  up  in  turn  certain 
other  garments,  including  my  coat.  "She  says  she 
found  'em  scattered  along  for  two  hundred  yards 
down  the  street  outside  your  window.  She  says  she 
hope  you  had  nothing  een  your  pockets,  for  there 
ees  nothin  een  them  now." 

"This  is  not  all,  Nick,"  I  screamed.  "You  have 
more,  say  you  have  more,  or  I  am  lost.  Where  are 
my  trousers,  Nick?  Tell  the  maid  to  go  down  the 
street  again,  farther  down  the  street,  and  see  if  she 
cannot  find  a  pair  of  khaki  trousers.  Maybe  they 
are  hanging  on  a  tree  or  on  somebody's  wall. 
They  must  be  somewhere;  they  wouldn't  fit  any 
one  but  me." 

"How  ees  everything?  Awlright,  eh?"  M. 
Todolich  drifted  into  the  door,  demurely,  then 
stopped  in  amazement  at  the  sight  of  me  waving 
my  incomplete  costume  about  and  entreating  Nick. 

The  interpreter  explained  to  him  my  situation, 
whereupon  he  grew  greatly  excited.  What,  an 
American  Guspodin  had  his  trousers  stolen  and 
that,  too,  when  he  was  traveling  with  the  chief  of 
gendarmes.  Outrageous!  He  would  call  the 
mayor  at  once,  and  order  the  gendarmes  to  make 
a  thorough  search  of  the  town.  No  visitor  from 
America  should  be  able  to  say  that  he  could  not 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        27 

safely  leave  his  trousers  wherever  he  wished  in 
Serbia.  Then  he  shouted  down  the  hall,  and 
brought  to  the  scene  of  my  humiliation  the  hotel 
proprietor,  his  wife,  his  daughter,  the  maid,  the 
valet,  and  the  cook,  so  that  precipitately  I  sought 
refuge  under  my  sheets.  He  soundly  berated  the 
hotel-keeper  because  he  had  not  personally  stood 
guard  over  my  trousers  all  night,  made  scathing 
remarks  about  the  citizens  of  Polanka,  and  not  once 
allowed  himself  a  remark  as  to  the  mentality  of 
people  who  hung  their  clothes  in  open  windows  on 
ground  floors. 

"Send  for  the  mayor  at  once,"  he  ordered,  "and 
all  the  gendarmes."  This  was  too  much.  I  saw 
the  haute  monde,  the  elite,  and  the  rank  and  file  of 
Polanka  convoked  around  me  trouserless.  I 
sensed  the  mayor's  stupefaction  at  his  city's  deep 
disgrace,  and  the  gendarmes'  merciless  fury  as 
they  made  a  house  to  house  search  for  my  khaki 
trousers. 

"Nick,"  I  weakly  implored,  "please,  Nick,  per- 
suade the  old  gentleman  to  let  the  matter  stand. 
Tell  him  I  was  going  to  throw  them  away.  Tell 
him  it  was  my  fault ;  probably  the  wind  blew  them 
somewhere.  Tell  him  anything  you  like,  Nick,  but 
don't  let  him  start  a  riot.  I  did  n't  lose  my  money, 


28       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

so  it  does  n't  matter.  You  must  go  to  a  shop  right 
away  and  get  me  a  pair  of  soldier's  trousers.  I 
have  always  wanted  some,  anyway.  And,  Nick, 
clear  this  mob  out  of  my  room!" 

Soon  Nick's  ever-ready  tongue  straightened  mat- 
ters out,  and  I  had  a  brand-new  pair  of  soldier's 
trousers.  When  I  was  dressed  I  walked  the  street 
that  had  been  bedecked  with  my  wardrobe,  and  saw 
a  familiar-looking  document  fluttering  in  the  gut- 
ter. I  raced  for  it,  and  with  a  sigh  tucked  it  into 
my  pocket,  for  it  bore  the  seal  of  the  United  States 
and  "requested"  whomever  it  might  concern  to  let 
me  freely  pass. 

From  Polanka  we  had  come  next  day  for  lunch 
at  Semendria,  and  after  a  pleasant  chat  with  the 
prefect  and  his  son,  a  very  likable  young  fellow 
with  happy  manners,  we  took  the  road  to  Belgrade. 
For  fifteen  or  twenty  kilometers  the  way  ran  on 
the  bank  of  the  Danube,  there  being  barely  room 
for  a  first-line  trench  between  it  and  the  river. 
Three  hundred  yards  away  the  Austrian  trenches 
were  in  plain  sight  across  the  river,  though  some- 
times masked  behind  willow-trees.  Leaving  Se- 
mendria by  way  of  the  old  fruit-market,  where 
were  for  sale  at  very  low  prices  unlimited  quanti- 
ties of  white  and  purple  grapes,  huge  plums,  large 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        29 

red  apples,  figs,  pears,  and  fine  peaches,  we  were  at 
once  exposed  to  the  fire  of  the  enemy's  cannon. 
Only  there  was  no  fire.  The  guns  were  there,  the 
trenches,  and  the  men,  but  unconcernedly  we  sailed 
along  for  an  hour,  flaunting  our  car  in  their  faces, 
as  it  were,  without  calling  forth  as  much  as  a  rifle- 
shot. This  was  disappointing,  for  we  had  been 
told  that  they  seldom  let  automobiles  pass  without 
taking  a  pot-shot  or  two,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
coming  to  Serbia  we  had  seemed  in  a  fair  way  for 
a  war  thrill.  The  Serbian  trench  was  deserted  ex- 
cept for  sentries  at  great  intervals,  but  higher  up  in 
the  vineyards,  on  the  other  side  of  us,  were  more 
trenches  and,  beyond  these,  dug-outs  where  the  sol- 
diers lived. 

Now  on  another  such  day,  two  months  later,  sud- 
denly a  rain  of  shell  began  on  that  town  and  stretch 
of  road.  It  continued  for  forty-eight  hours  until 
there  was  no  town  and  no  road  and  no  trench. 
Then  across  that  quiet,  beautiful  river  men  put  out 
by  fifties  from  the  Austrian  side  in  large,  flat-bot- 
tomed boats  and,  confident  that  nothing  remained 
alive  on  the  other  shell-torn  shore,  made  a  landing. 
They  were  met  by  men  who  for  two  days  had  sat 
crouched  in  dug-outs  under  an  unparalleled  fire. 
The  fighting  that  ensued  was  not  war  de  luxe,  with 


30       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

all  the  brilliant,  heartless  mechanisms  of  modern 
war.  It  was  with  rifle  and  bayonet  and  bomb  and 
knives  and  bare  hands,  and  it  raged  for  a  long  time, 
until  finally  the  enemy  was  driven  back  across  the 
river,  leaving  more  than  a  thousand  men  behind. 
Only  at  Posharevats  did  they  cross.  The  rear- 
guard at  Semendria  was  nearly  annihilated  but  it 
won  the  fight.  An  eye-witness,  writing  in  the 
"Nineteenth  Century,"  gives  this  description: 

There  was  no  demoralization  amongst  the  survivors  in 
the  river  trenches.  For  that  the  Serbian  temperament 
has  to  be  thanked,  which  is  perhaps  after  all  only  the 
temperament  of  any  unspoiled  population  of  agricultural 
peasants  that  live  hard  lives  and  have  simple  ideas.  The 
effect  of  the  bombardment  had  rolled  off  them  like  water 
off  a  duck's  back,  and  they  set  to  in  the  twilight  and 
bombed  and  shot  the  landing  parties  off  their  side  the 
river  with  great  energy  and  application. 

So  that  was  what  was  hanging  over  the  sunshiny 
piece  of  road  that  we  so  blithely  sped  along,  while 
the  two  prosaic-looking  battle-lines  watched  each 
other  across  the  Danube — at  peace. 

In  the  late  dusk  we  came  to  the  heights  behind 
Belgrade,  and  looked  down  on  the  lights  of  the  city 
strung  along  the  Save  and  the  Danube,  while  just 
beyond  the  river  the  towers  of  Semlin  gleamed  in 
the  waning  light.  London  and  Paris  were  dark 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        31 

every  evening  last  summer,  but  Belgrade,  always 
within  range  of  the  Austrian  guns,  was  lit  up  as 
usual. 

With  the  exception  of  the  section  along  the  rivers 
that  had  been  bombarded  during  the  first  invasion, 
and  one  hotel  on  the  main  street,  which  a  shell  had 
demolished,  Belgrade  might  have  been  the  capital 
of  a  nation  at  peace.  The  street  cars  were  not  run- 
ning, but  in  such  a  little  city  no  one  missed  them. 
We  ran  up  a  very  rough  street  and  placed  the  car 
in  the  yard  of  a  private  residence.  Then  M.  Todo- 
lich  took  us  over  to  his  home  which,  when  the  capi- 
tal was  removed  to  Nish,  he  had  had  to  lock  up  and 
leave  like  all  the  other  government  officials.  One 
could  see  the  pride  of  the  home-loving  Serb  as  he 
showed  us  over  the  charming  little  villa  built  around 
a  palm-filled  court  where  a  small  fountain  played. 
Belgrade  being  the  only  one  of  their  cities  which 
the  Serbs  have  had  time  and  resources  to  make 
modern,  I  found  them  all  very  proud  of  it,  with  an 
almost  personal  affection  for  each  of  its  urbane 
conveniences.  With  great  enthusiasm  monsieur 
showed  us  the  mysteries  of  his  very  up-to-date 
lighting  and  heating  apparatus. 

"All  the  Serbian  homes  must  be  so  some  day 
when  peace  comes  to  us,"  he  said  earnestly.  His 


32       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

was  typical  of  many  homes  in  Belgrade  before  Oc- 
tober 6. 

In  a  fairly  good  hotel  we  spent  the  night.  My 
window  overlooked  the  Save,  from  the  moonlit  sur- 
face of  which,  as  stark  and  melancholy  as  the  ghost- 
ship  of  the  "Ancient  Mariner,"  jutted  the  great, 
black  steel  girders  and  tangled  iron  braces  of  the 
blown-up  railway  bridge.  Now  and  then  a  dim 
light  traveled  slowly  along  the  water  on  some  tiny 
boat  that,  manned  by  English  marines,  was  pa- 
troling  the  water-front  of  Semlin. 

I  was  awake  early  next  morning  and,  dressing 
hurriedly,  went  out  into  the  brilliant  August  sun- 
shine. The  air  was  wonderfully  clear  and  bracing. 
Newsboys  cried  along  the  streets,  which  many 
sweepers  were  busily  at  work  cleaning.  Nothing 
but  peace  in  Belgrade!  Searching  out  the  auto- 
mobile, I  found  a  curious  audience  around  it. 
There  was  Mitar,  twelve  years  old,  as  straight  as  a 
young  birch,  with  blue-black  hair  that  fell  in  soft 
curls  to  his  shoulders,  and  jetty  eyes  that  peered 
with  burning  curiosity  into  every  crevice  of  the 
motor,  which  he  feared  to  touch.  His  beautiful 
body  was  tightly  clothed  in  a  dull-green  jersey  and 
white  trousers  that  ended  at  the  knees  and  left  bare, 
sturdy  legs  very  much  bronzed.  And  there  was  his 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         33 

little  brother,  Dushan,  age  seven,  with  still  longer 
hair,  but  a  dark  brown,  large  hazel  eyes,  pug  nose, 
and  freckled  face,  furnished  with  a  toothless  grin, 
for  he  was  at  that  exciting  age  when  one  loses  a 
tooth  almost  every  day.  He  stood  behind  his  big 
brother  and  admonished  him  not  to  touch  the  car. 
In  the  seat,  bravest  of  the  lot,  saucy,  impudent, 
naughty,  sat  Milka,  age  five,  dressed  in  a  blue  wisp 
of  cloth  that  left  tiny  throat  and  arms  and  legs  bare 
to  the  summer  sun.  She  had  hold  of  the  wheel, 
and  was  kicking  at  the  foot-levers  in  wild  delight, 
quite  obviously  driving  that  battered  Ford  at  ten 
thousand  miles  a  minute.  But  when  suddenly  she 
heard  the  step  of  the  funny-looking  American,  one 
screech  of  laughter  and  fear,  and  Milka,  like  a 
flying-squirrel,  was  safe  on  the  doorstep,  demurely 
smiling.  I  tried  to  coax  her  back,  but  could  not. 
Even  when  I  lifted  the  hood,  and  Mitar  danced 
about  with  excitement  at  sight  of  the  dirty  engine 
thus  disclosed,  and  Dushan  stood  with  eyes  of  won- 
der, Milka  remained  smiling  at  me,  poised  for  flight. 
As  I  worked  about  the  car,  a  woman  came  out  of 
the  house  toward  me.  I  heard  her  light  step  upon 
the  paved  court  and  looked  up.  She  was  dark,  not 
very  tall,  but  dignified  and  wonderfully  graceful, 
as  all  Serbian  women  are.  Smiling  pleasantly,  she 


34        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

offered  me  on  a  tray  the  inevitable  shlatko.  This 
is  a  time-honored  custom  in  Serbia,  and  is  ob- 
served very  generally,  though,  of  course,  as  West- 
ern ideas  come  in,  the  old  customs  go.  When  a 
guest  comes  to  a  Serbian  home,  the  hostess — always 
the  hostess  in  person — brings  in  a  tray  with  pre- 
served fruits.  On  it  are  spoons,  and  the  order  is 
for  each  guest  to  help  himself  to  a  spoonful  of 
shlatko,  place  the  spoon  in  a  water-filled  receptacle, 
and  take  a  glass  of  water.  Then  Turkish  coffee 
follows,  and  a  liqueur,  usually  plum  brandy,  from 
the  home-made  store  which  every  Serbian  home 
keeps.  It  is  a  sort  of  good-fellowship  pledge  and 
charming  in  its  simplicity.  Now  the  lady  of  the 
house  was  observing  the  honored  rights  of  the 
shlatko  to  this  foreigner  who  late  the  evening  be- 
fore had  deposited  a  very  muddy  automobile  in  her 
courtyard. 

There  was  still  a  good  half  hour  before  M.  Todo- 
lich  would  be  ready,  so  I  determined  to  take  the 
children  riding,  my  ulterior  motive  being  to  win 
over  Milka.  They  had  never  been  in  an  automo- 
bile before.  We  rolled  the  car  out  of  the  court, 
and  started  the  engine.  No  sooner  had  the  auto- 
mobile appeared  in  the  street  than  the  neighbor- 
hood became  alive  with  children,  all  running  toward 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         35 

us,  the  traces  of  half-finished  breakfasts  showing 
on  many  of  their  faces.  I  piled  them  all  in,  on  top 
of  each  other,  in  layers,  and  hung  them  about  in  the 
tonneau.  Milka  had  deigned  to  come  to  the  side- 
walk, where  I  pretended  not  to  notice  her,  but  took 
my  seat  at  the  wheel.  If  you  had  never,  never  had 
a  ride  in  an  automobile,  and  would  like  to  very,  very 
much,  and  if  you  were  to  see  one  just  about  to  go 
away  with  everybody  else  in  it  and  you  left  behind, 
what  would  you  do? 

Milka  did  not  set  up  a  yell  or  smash  anything. 
No,  at  five  she  knew  a  better  way  than  that. 
Calmly,  but  very  quickly,  before  the  automobile 
could  possibly  get  away,  she  stepped  upon  the  run- 
ning-board, pushed  two  youngsters  out  of  her  way, 
bobbed  up  between  me  and  the  wheel,  climbed  upon 
my  knee,  and  gave  me,  quite  as  if  it  had  been  for 
love  alone,  a  resounding  kiss  on  the  cheek.  I  am 
sure  she  might  have  had  a  thousand  Fords  if  she 
could  have  got  in  one  such  coup  with  the  great  De- 
troit manufacturer.  So  on  that  cloudless  August 
morning  we  had  a  "joy  ride"  through  the  streets  of 
Belgrade,  and  the  noise  we  made  could,  I  know,  be 
heard  in  the  enemy-lines.  This  was  only  a  few 
short  weeks  before  the  sixth  of  October,  1915. 

Of  course  war  is  war,  but  let  us  get  a  picture. 


36         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

Suppose  on  a  perfect  day  in  Indian  summer  you 
sat  in  that  tiny,  flower-filled  court  with  the  hos- 
pitable mother;  Mitar,  the  handsome;  Dushan,  the 
cautious ;  and  Milka,  the  coquettish.  As  you  romp 
with  the  children,  you  hear  distantly  a  dull  clap 
of  thunder,  just  as  if  a  summer  shower  were  brew- 
ing. A  second,  a  third  clap,  and  you  walk  out  to 
the  entrance  to  scan  the  sky.  It  is  deep  blue  and 
cloudless,  but  away  over  the  northern  part  of  the 
city,  while  you  look,  as  if  by  magic,  beautiful,  shiny 
white  cloudlets  appear  far  up  in  the  crystal  sky, 
tiny,  soft,  fluffy  things  that  look  like  a  baby's  pow- 
der-puff, and  every  time  one  appears  a  dull  bit  of 
thunder  comes  to  you.  For  twelve  months  off  and 
on  you  have  seen  this  sight.  You  think  of  it  as  a 
periodic  reminder  that  your  nation  and  the  one 
across  the  way  are  at  war.  You  know  that  hereto- 
fore those  powder-puffs  have  been  directed  at  your 
own  guns  on  the  hills  behind  the  city  and  at  the  in- 
trenchments  down  by  the  river.  But  there  are 
many  things  you  do  not  know.  You  do  not  know, 
for  instance,  that  Mackensen  is  just  across  the  river 
now  with  a  great  Teutonic  army  outnumbering 
your  own  forces  five  or  six  to  one.  You  do  not 
know  that  for  weeks  the  Austrian  railways  have 
been  piling  up  mountains  of  potential  powder-puffs 


A  Serbian  peasant's  home 


A  bridge  built  by  the  Romans  at  Ouchitze  and  still  in  perfect  condition 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         39 

behind  Semlin,  and  bringing  thousands  of  ponder- 
ous machines  designed  to  throw  said  puffs  not  only 
at  the  forts  and  trenches,  but  at  your  flower-filled 
court  and  its  counterparts  throughout  the  city. 
You  do  not  know  that  aeroplanes  are  parked  by 
fifties  beyond  Semlin,  and  loaded  to  capacity  with 
puffs  that  drop  a  long,  long  way  and  blossom  in 
fire  and  death  wherever  they  strike.  You  do  not 
know  that  from  a  busy  group  of  men  in  Berlin  an 
order  has  gone  out  to  take  your  city  and  your  na- 
tion at  any  cost,  and  if  you  knew  these  things,  it 
would  now  be  too  late.  For  as  you  look,  in  a  few 
brief  moments,  the  thunder-storm  rolls  up  and 
covers  the  city,  such  a  thunder-storm  as  nature, 
with  all  her  vaunted  strength,  has  never  dared  to 
manufacture.  Mitar  and  Dushan  and  Milka  stop 
their  play.  Worried,  the  woman  comes  out  and 
stands  with  you.  You  say  the  firing  is  uncom- 
monly heavy  to-day,  but  it  will  mean  nothing,  and 
as  you  say  this,  you  notice  the  powder-puffs  on  the 
slopes  of  the  hills  far  short  of  the  forts  and  over 
the  town  itself.  High  above  you  two  of  them  sud- 
denly appear,  and  the  storm  begins  in  your  region, 
in  the  street  in  front  of  you,  on  the  homes  of  your 
neighbors.  With  increasing  rapidity  the  rain  falls 
now,  five  to  the  minute,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  twenty- 


40         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

five,  every  sixty  seconds,  and  every  drop  is  from 
fifty  pounds  to  a  quarter  of  a  ton  of  whirling  steel, 
and  in  the  hollow  heart  of  each  are  new  and  strange 
explosives  that,  when  they  strike,  shake  the  win- 
dows out  of  your  house.  Looking  toward  Semlin, 
you  see  the  aeroplanes  rising  in  fleets.  Some  are 
already  over  the  city,  directing  the  fire  of  the  guns 
across  the  river,  and  others  are  dropping  explosive 
bombs,  incendiary  bombs,  and  darts.  In  a  dozen 
places  already  the  city  is  blazing  terribly.  A  thin, 
shrill,  distant  sound  comes  to  you  and  the  waiting 
woman,  almost  inaudible  at  first,  but  quivering  like 
a  high  violin  note.  It  rises  swiftly  in  a  crescendo, 
and  you  hear  it  now  tearing  down  the  street  on 
your  left,  a  deafening  roar  that  yet  is  sharp,  snarl- 
ing, wailing.  Two  hundred  yards  away  a  three- 
story  residence  is  lifted  into  the  air,  where  it  trem- 
bles like  jelly,  and  drops,  a  heap  of  debris,  into  the 
street.  Your  friend  lives  there.  His  wife,  his 
children,  are  there,  or  were,  until  that  huge  shell 
came.  Milka,  Dushan,  and  Mitar  have  come  in 
time  to  see  their  playmates'  home  blown  to  atoms. 
Without  waiting  for  anything,  you  and  the  quiet, 
frightened  woman  seize  the  children  and  start  out 
of  the  city.  As  you  come  to  the  road  that  winds 
tortuously  to  the  hills  behind  the  town,  you  see  that 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         41 

it  is  black  with  thousands  and  thousands  of  men 
and  women  dragging  along  screaming  Mitars  and 
Dushans  and  Milkas.  Hovering  above  this  road, 
which  winds  interminably  on  the  exposed  hillside 
before  it  reaches  the  sheltering  crest,  flit  enemy 
aeroplanes,  and  on  the  dark  stream  below  they  are 
dropping  bombs. 

There  is  no  other  road.  You  know  you  must 
pass  along  beneath  those  aeroplanes.  You  look 
at  the  woman  and  the  children,  and  wonder  who 
will  pay  the  price.  Oh,  for  a  conveyance  now!  If 
only  the  American  were  here  with  his  automobile, 
how  greatly  would  he  increase  the  children's 
chances!  Carriages  are  passing,  but  you  have  no 
carriage.  Railway-trains  are  still  trying  to  leave 
the  city,  but  there  is  literally  no  room  to  hang  on 
the  trains,  and  the  line  is  exposed  to  heavy  fire. 
Only  slowly  can  you  go  with  the  children  down  the 
street  already  clogged  with  debris.  Now  in  front 
you  see  a  friend  with  his  family,  the  mother  and 
four  children.  They  are  in  a  coupe,  drawn  by  good 
horses.  How  fortunate!  The  children  recognize 
one  another.  Milka  shouts  a  greeting.  She  is 
frightened,  but  of  course  does  not  realize  the  dan- 
ger. Even  as  she  is  answered  by  her  playmate  in 
the  carriage,  all  of  you  are  stunned  by  a  terrible 


42         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

concussion,  and  there  is  no  family  or  carriage  or 
horses  any  more.  There  is  scarcely  any  trace  of 
them.  The  fierce  hunger  of  a  ten-inch  shell  sent 
to  wreck  great  forts  is  scarcely  appeased  by  one 
little  family,  and,  to  end  its  fury,  blows  a  crater 
many  feet  across  in  the  street  beyond.  Along  with 
you  Mitar  has  realized  what  is  going  on,  and  not  the 
least  of  the  trouble  that  overwhelms  you  is  to  see 
the  knowledge  of  years  drop  in  a  minute  on  his 
childish  face  when  those  comrades  are  murdered 
before  his  eyes.  If  he  gets  out  of  this  inferno  and 
lives  a  hundred  years,  he  will  never  shake  off  that 
moment.  The  shell  has  blown  a  crater  in  his  soul, 
and  because  he  is  a  Serb,  that  crater  will  smoke 
and  smolder  and  blaze  until  the  Southern  Slav  is 
free  from  all  which  unloosed  that  shell  or  until  he 
himself  is  blown  beyond  the  sway  even  of  Teutonic 
arms.  He  grasps  his  mother's  hand  and  drags 
her  on. 

Now  you  are  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  No 
word  can  be  spoken  because  of  the  constant  roar 
of  your  own  and  the  enemy's  guns — a  roar  unfal- 
tering and  massive,  such  as  in  forty-eight  hours 
sixty  thousand  huge  projectiles  alone  could  spread 
over  the  little  city.  On  the  road  you  pass  fre- 
quently those  irregular  splotches  of  murder  char- 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        43 

acteristic  of  bomb-dropping.  Here  only  one  man 
was  blown  to  pieces  by  a  precious  bomb,  yonder  two 
women  and  a  child,  farther  along  eight  people,  men, 
women,  and  children,  lie  heaped.  Here  again  only 
a  child  was  crippled,  both  feet  or  a  hand  gone.  It 
is  hard  to  be  accurate  when  sailing  high  in  the  air, 
hard  even  for  those  fearless  men  who  with  shrapnel 
bursting  around  their  frail  machines  calmly  drop 
death  upon  women  and  children.  I  think  they  are 
the  bravest,  perhaps,  of  all  the  fighting  men,  these 
bomb-droppers  in  whatever  uniform.  For,  it  is 
not  easy  to  face  death  at  any  time,  but  to  face  it 
while  in  the  act  of  dropping  murder  on  the  bowed 
heads  of  women,  on  the  defenseless  heads  of  sleep- 
ing, playing,  or  fleeing  children,  surely  it  requires 
nerve  to  face  death  thus  engaged. 

Two  loyal  subjects  of  the  Kaiser  were  dexter- 
ously dropping  bombs  on  Kragujevats  one  morn- 
ing. They  pitched  some  at  the  arsenal,  which  they 
missed,  and  some  at  the  English  women's  hospital 
camp,  which  they  hit,  one  bomb  completely  destroy- 
ing all  the  unit's  store  of  jam.  A  nurse  was  a  few 
feet  away,  unaware  that  anything  was  threatening 
until  orange  marmalade  showered  her.  Then  she 
and  all  her  colleagues  went  out  into  the  open  to 
watch  the  brave  Germans.  They  were  sailing 


44         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

about  nicely  enough  until  a  stray  piece  of  shrapnel 
hit  their  gas-tank.  Then  the  eagle  became  a 
meteor,  which  by  the  time  it  lighted  in  the  middle  of 
the  camp  was  burned  out.  The  two  obedient  sub- 
jects of  the  German  emperor  were  incoherent  bits 
of  black  toast,  and  the  women  came  and  picked 
souvenirs  off  the  aeroplane.  They  showed  them 
to  me. 

So  you  passed  with  the  mother  and  children  by 
these  patches  of  horror  that  mark  the  trail  of  the 
newest  warfare. 

Or  perhaps  you  lingered  in  the  city  until  the 
second  evening,  when  no  one  any  longer  dared  to 
linger  even  in  the  scattered  sheltered  spots.  Per- 
haps with  the  mother,  Mitar,  Dushan,  and  Milka, 
you  came  out  at  dusk  of  the  second  day,  when  the 
remnant  of  the  population  was  leaving,  when  the 
enemy  had  effected  their  crossing,  and  hand-to- 
hand  combat  raged  down  by  the  river,  when  the 
guns  were  being  dragged  away  to  new  positions, 
and  the  troops  were  falling  hurriedly  back.  If 
you  did,  you  left  in  a  final  spurt  of  the  bombard- 
ment, and  on  the  crest  of  the  hills  behind  Belgrade 
you  stopped  to  look  back  for  the  last  time  on  that 
city.  For  the  city  that  in  future  years  you  may 
come  back  to  will  have  nothing  in  common  with  the 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         45 

one  you  are  leaving  except  location.  Major  El- 
liot, of  the  British  marines,  stopped  at  this  time  to 
look  back.  A  few  days  later  he  told  me  what  he 
saw.  There  was  a  dump-heap,  an  ash-pile,  several 
miles  in  extent,  lying  along  the  Save  and  the  Dan- 
ube. In  hundreds  of  spots  great  beds  of  live  coals 
glowed,  in  hundreds  of  others  roaring  flames  leaped 
high  into  the  sky,  and  over  the  remaining  dark 
spaces  of  the  heap,  where  as  yet  no  conflagration 
raged,  aeroplanes,  sailing  about,  were  dropping 
bombs  that  fell  and  burst  in  wide  sprays  of  liquid 
fire,  sprinkling  the  city  with  terrible  beauty. 
Thirty  or  forty  to  the  minute  huge  shells  were 
bursting  in  the  town. 

You  may  get  away  with  the  family,  or  you  may 
not.  You  and  the  mother  may  be  killed,  and  Mitar 
left  to  lead  the  younger  ones.  All  three  may  be 
blown  to  pieces,  and  only  you  two  left  with  the 
memory  of  it.  More  than  seven  thousand  just  like 
you  and  yours,  hundreds  of  Mitars  with  bright 
dreams  and  curling  hairs,  hundreds  of  little, 
freckled,  pug-nosed  Dushans,  hundreds  of  dainty, 
laughing  Milkas,  reddened  the  rough  paving-stones 
of  Belgrade  or  smoldered  beneath  the  glowing  ruins 
of  homes  such  as  M.  Todolich  had  proudly  shown 
me. 


46         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

We  have  supposed  our  picture,  and  every  impor- 
tant detail  of  it  is  supposed  from  things  that  many 
eye-witnesses  told  me,  among  them  Serbian  officers 
of  high  rank,  and  Admiral  Troubridge,  Major  El- 
liott, Colonel  Phillips,  and  the  British  marines  who 
helped  in  the  defense.  If  still  the  details  are 
wrong,  there  is  one  little  fact  that  cannot  escape 
attention :  something  has  become  of  seven  thousand 
civilians  who  on  the  sixth  of  October  were  in  Bel- 
grade. When  I  asked  Admiral  Troubridge  if  the 
estimate  that  this  many  had  been  killed  was  too 
high,  he  replied  that  it  was  certainly  too  low. 

Innumerable  such  pictures  as  ours,  I  feel  sure, 
God  on  high  might  have  seen  in  Belgrade  during 
those  forty-eight  hours.  But  perhaps  God  on  high 
was  not  looking.  It  seems  more  than  likely  that 
He  was  too  busy.  Belgrade  is  tiny.  In  smiling 
lands  to  the  west  He  had  five  hundred  miles  of  thun- 
der-storms to  watch,  many  beautiful  towns  more  im- 
portant than  Belgrade,  where  lived  and  died  Mitars 
and  Dushans  and  Milkas  in  numbers  just  as  great. 
And  on  the  other  side  of  two  old  and  charming 
countries,  He  had  a  thousand  miles  more  of  thun- 
der to  superintend,  and  farther  to  the  east,  where 
another  nation  flaunts  a  rival  to  His  avowed  only 
Son,  He  had  certain  other  matters  to  oversee,  a  mil- 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE        47 

lion  people  massacred  beside  the  soldiers  on  the  bat- 
tle-line. Also  over  His  wide,  gray  oceans  there 
were  great  ships  with  Milkas  and  Dushans  and 
Mitars  on  them,  and  their  fathers  and  mothers. 
He  must  witness  the  destruction  of  these,  for  surely, 
like  the  rest  of  us,  God  loves  the  brave  sailors.  So 
a  little  forty-eight  hour  thunder-storm  on  the  banks 
of  the  "beautiful  blue  Danube"  could  not  have 
claimed  very  much  of  His  attention.  As  the  ed- 
itors say,  He  must  be  "full  up  on  war  stuff,"  and, 
anyway,  there  are  not  enough  of  the  Serbs  to  make 
them  so  terribly  important;  like  us,  for  instance. 
Besides,  people  in  the  great  world  tell  us  war  is 
war. 

After  the  fine  morning  ride  with  Mitar,  Dushan, 
and  Milka,  we  left  Belgrade,  retraced  our  steps  over 
the  peaceful  road  along  the  Danube,  but  at  Semen- 
dria  turned  eastward  and  so,  after  nightfall,  neared 
Velico-Gradishte,  also  on  the  Danube,  and  nestled 
in  the  very  first  foot-hills  of  the  Carpathians.  Just 
before  sunset  we  had  passed  through  Posharevats, 
headquarters  for  the  third  Serbian  army.  Shortly 
beyond  to  the  northward  lies  the  famous  Stig  coun- 
try, broad,  level,  and  fertile  as  few  lands  are.  We 
climbed  a  hill,  from  the  top  of  which  we  overlooked 
the  wide  valley  ahead.  For  many  miles,  until  lost 


48         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

in  the  deep  blue  of  the  distant  Carpathians,  the  land 
was  as  smooth  as  a  floor,  and  in  the  slanting  rays  of 
the  sun  a  rich  gold  color  was  spread  over  all  of  it  so 
unbrokenly  and  evenly  that  we  could  not  imagine 
what  it  was.  Mallory  and  I  guessed  and  guessed, 
but  could  not  make  it  out.  Then  we  descended  into 
it  down  a  two-mile  barren  hill,  and  immediately  the 
road  became  a  narrow  lane  between  solid  walls  of 
tasseling  Indian  corn,  the  wide-flung  gold  of  which 
had  puzzled  us.  In  no  part  of  America  have  I  seen 
corn  superior  to  that  of  these  fields,  cultivated 
though  they  were  by  the  most  primitive  methods. 
One  of  the  things  that  brought  Mr.  Mallory  there 
was  to  see  to  the  transportation  with  his  unit's  auto- 
mobiles of  some  three  hundred  thousand  kilograms 
of  corn  which  the  Government  had  bought  for  the 
destitute  in  Macedonia.  The  cars  were  to  haul  it 
to  the  railway  station  about  twenty  kilometers  dis- 
tant. This  corn  was  of  the  crop  gathered  two  years 
previously.  That  of  the  preceding  year  was  stored 
untouched  in  the  peasants'  barns,  and  now  we  saw 
this  wonderful  crop  almost  ready  to  gather.  This 
shows  how  lack  of  transportation  hampers  every- 
thing in  Serbia.  People  in  southern  Serbia  were 
on  the  point  of  starvation,  while  here  was  food 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         49 

enough  for  the  whole  nation.  The  Teutonic  allies 
have  taken  a  rich  country. 

For  two  hours  we  ran  at  top-speed  across  this 
level  farm,  and  then,  crossing  a  thin  strip  of  woods, 
came  to  a  long  tree-lined  avenue,  very  similar  to  a 
route  nationale  in  France.  We  were  bounding 
along  this,  our  head-lights  making  plain  the  road, 
when  a  mounted  gendarme  rode  into  the  way  ahead 
and  held  up  his  hand.  He  made  us  put  out  all 
lights  and  sneak  along  very  slowly,  for  we  were  now 
under  the  enemy's  guns  again,  and  at  this  point 
they  were  more  disposed  to  pop  at  anything  they 
saw,  particularly  automobile-lights.  So  we  crept 
into  the  little  place,  which  was  knocked  to  pieces  al- 
most as  much  as  Vishegrad,  had  our  supper,  and 
went  to  bed  in  houses  where  every  crevice  was  care- 
fully covered  to  conceal  the  light. 

It  was  considered  an  act  of  foolhardiness  and 
daring  to  cross  the  public  square  of  Velico-Gra- 
dishte  in  daylight.  The  main  street  of  the  place 
could  be  swept  by  gun-fire  across  the  river  at  any 
time.  So  the  few  remaining  citizens,  and  there 
were  more  than  one  would  think,  took  devious  ways 
down  side  streets  to  get  from  one  place  to  another. 
We  stopped  most  of  the  next  day,  a  very  hot,  still 


50         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

day,  in  which  it  seemed  very  incongruous  that  we 
had  to  sneak  about  like  thieves,  and  in  the  afternoon 
left,  making  a  wide  detour  through  the  Stig  coun- 
try further  to  inspect  the  harvest. 

Another  trip  which  I  made  from  Nish  to  Zajechar 
along  the  valley  of  the  Timok  further  revealed  to 
me  the  vast,  potential  resources  of  Serbia.  We  saw 
little  of  armies  on  this  trip,  because  we  were  along 
the  Bulgarian  frontier,  and  it  was  then  too  early 
for  Serbia  to  have  heavy  forces  massed  there. 
Everywhere  the  peasants  pointed  to  the  eastward 
and  told  us:  "There  lies  the  Bulgarian  frontier. 
There  it  is,  just  on  top  that  mountain.  From 
here  it  is  only  half  an  hour's  walk."  They  spoke  of 
it  as  if  it  were  a  thing  alive,  which  was  being  held 
back  by  them  by  main  strength  and  awkwardness, 
and  they  spoke  of  it  with  awe.  How  well,  in  that 
peaceful  summer,  they  realized  what  a  move  on  the 
Bulgarian  frontier  would  mean  to  them. 

During  this  year  of  peace  in  war  there  was  no 
anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  Serbs  as  to  their  Aus- 
trian frontiers.  I  spoke  to  scores  of  officers  and 
soldiers,  and  not  once  was  anything  but  confidence 
expressed.  But  their  frontier  to  the  east  they  al- 
most without  exception  distrusted.  I  do  not  think 
that  there  was  one  Serbian  in  Serbia  who  did  not 


BATTLE  LINES  AT  PEACE         51 

firmly  believe  that  Bulgaria  would  attack  when 
fully  prepared.  It  was  a  thing  that  called  for  no 
more  discussion,  a  thing  so  patent  to  all  observers 
of  affairs  in  the  Balkans  that  only  allied  diplomacy 
was  too  stupid  to  see.  I  know  now  that  while  I 
was  talking  to  the  captain  about  it,  there  in  Bosnia, 
the  English  papers  were  full  of  an  entente  cordiale 
with  Bulgaria,  but  also  as  we  talked  that  afternoon 
an  orderly  rode  up,  handing  his  superior  a  note. 
The  captain  glanced  at  it  and  turned  to  me.  "At 
last,"  he  said  in  French.  "The  blue  order  has  come. 
We  must  be  ready  to  go  in  half  an  hour." 

And  this  for  me  was  the  bell  that  rang  up  the 
curtain  on  what  is  without  doubt  one  of  the  greatest 
tragedies  our  century  will  see.  It  came  on  a  nation 
almost  as  much  at  peace  as  Belgium  was,  a  country 
much  larger  than  Belgium,  with  no  good  roads, 
with  no  France,  no  England  to  offer  refuge,  noth- 
ing but  wild  mountains  devoid  of  food.  It  came 
not  in  the  days  of  summer,  when  shelter  is  a  habit 
and  not  a  necessity,  but  at  the  beginning  of  the  sav- 
age Balkan  winter,  when  a  roof  very  frequently 
means  life,  and  it  lasted  not  three  or  four  weeks,  but 
ten. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   CHEECHAS   OF   SERBIA 

WHEN  the  long  expected  "blue  order" 
came,  it  meant  that  Serbia  was  stripping 
her  war  frontiers  of  all  reserves  and  most  of  her 
first-line  troops.  It  meant  that  on  the  Drina  only 
a  skeleton  army  was  left,  while  along  the  long 
frontiers  of  the  Save  and  the  Danube  perhaps  a 
hundred  thousand  men  were  spread,  and  all  the 
others — Serbia's  whole  army  numbered  about  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand — were  to  be  massed 
along  the  Bulgarian  border  to  guard  the  nation's 
one  hope — the  single  line  of  the  Orient  Railway 
from  Saloniki  to  Belgrade.  At  about  this  time  the 
English  Parliament  was  being  regaled  with  "the 
cordial  feeling  that  always  existed  between  Eng- 
land and  Bi^aria." 

The  next  morning  I  watched  the  garrison  at 
Vardishte  file  over  the  Shargon  Pass  to  Kremna, 
the  chief  post  of  the  Drina  division,  while  the 
fourth-line  men,  the  cheechas,  were  sent  down  to 
Vishegrad  to  take  the  first-line  places. 

Of  all  the  fresh,  unhackneyed  things  that  Serbia 

52 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        53 

offered  abundantly  to  the  Western  visitor,  perhaps 
none  is  more  indicative  of  the  nation's  real  spirit, 
certainly  none  is  more  picturesque  and  appealing, 
than  these  cheechas  of  the  army.  Cheecha  means 
"uncle,"  and  in  Serbia,  where  men  age  more  swiftly 
than  anywhere  else  on  earth,  it  is  popularly  applied 
to  men  more  than  thirty.  But  the  cheechas  of  the 
fourth  line  range  from  forty  five  to  an  indefinite 
limit.  The  Serb  seems  never  too  old  to  fight. 

They  had  no  uniforms,  these  patriarchs  of  the 
army,  and,  marching  by,  presented  a  beggar's  array 
of  tattered  homespuns  at  once  ludicrous  and  touch- 
ing. To  see  their  grandfathers  in  dirty  rags,  un- 
washed, half  starved,  blue  with  cold,  drenched  with 
rain,  many  of  them  suffering  with  rheumatism, 
scurvy,  neuralgia,  and  in  the  last  days  of  their  na- 
tion's life  dying  by  hundreds  of  wounds,  cold,  and 
starvation,  was  one  of  the  things  the  Serbs  had  to 
bear. 

It  was  the  cheechas  who  first  welcomed  me  to 
Serbia.  I  shall  never  forget  my  feelings  when  at 
Ghevgheli,  the  border  town  between  Greece  and 
Serbia,  I  looked'out  of  the  train  window  at  my  first 
cheecha.  I  wondered  if  this  was  the  typical  Ser- 
bian soldier,  for  he  looked  not  a  day  under  seventy, 
despite  the  broad  grin  on  his  face  when  he  saw  the 


54         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

party  of  American  workers.  It  was  midsummer 
and  as  hot  as  southern  Italy,  but  the  old  fellow  was 
dressed  about  as  heavily  as  we  would  be  for  a  bliz- 
zard. On  his  shoulders  he  had  a  thick  woolen  cape 
of  brown  homespun,  attached  to  which  was  a  peeked 
hood  designed  to  slip  over  the  head  in  wet  weather, 
and  which,  when  in  place,  added  a  monk-like 
touch  to  the  rest  of  his  outlandish  costume.  Un- 
derneath the  cape  he  wore  a  sleeveless  jacket  of 
sheepskin,  with  the  thick  wool  turned  inside,  and 
this  in  July.  Beneath  the  jacket  was  a  shirt  of 
linen,  home  manufactured,  and  he  wore  long 
trousers  that  fitted  skin  tight  about  his  calves  and 
thighs  but  bagged  like  bloomers  in  the  back.  He 
had  on  thick  woolen  stockings,  which  he  wore  pulled 
over  the  trousers  up  to  his  knees,  like  golf  hose,  and 
which  were  resplendent  with  wide  borders  of  bril- 
liant colors.  On  his  feet  were  the  half-shoe,  half- 
sandal  arrangements  known  as  opanki.  His  queer 
get-up  made  one  forget  how  old  and  forlorn  he 
must  be,  for  despite  his  cheerful  face,  he  could  not 
have  been  but  wretched  with  nothing  in  life  before 
him  except  to  guard  that  scorching  railway  track 
while  his  sons  and  grandsons  died  on  the  frontiers. 
As  I  saw  him  standing  there  in  the  dust  and  heat, 
some  dialect  lines  of  Lanier's  came  to  me: 


H    O 


S  p 


g-F 

B    JQ 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        57 

What  use  am  dis  ole  cotton  stalk  when  life  done  picked 
my  cotton? 

But  that  was  because  I  was  ignorant  of  Serbia. 
Not  by  a  long  way  had  "Life  done  picked"  those 
cheechas'  "cotton."  Nearly  a  million  Germans, 
Austrians,  and  Bulgarians  did  it  a  few  months 
later,  but  the  harvest,  thank  God!  was  not  all  one- 
sided. 

As  the  slow-moving  train  crept  north  into  Ser- 
bia, our  acquaintance  with  the  cheechas  grew.  At 
every  little  bridge  there  were  four  of  them,  two  at 
each  end,  living  in  tiny  tepee-like  shelters  built  of 
brush.  At  the  stations  companies  of  them  were 
drawn  up  along  the  track,  grotesque  groups,  non- 
descript and  filthy,  with  rifles  of  many  makes  slung 
over  their  stooping  shoulders.  They  never  failed 
to  salute  us  and  cheer  us,  their  enthusiasm  being 
mingled  with  a  charming  naive  gratitude  when  we 
scattered  American  cigarettes  among  them. 

While  we  were  camping  just  outside  Nish  dur- 
ing the  last  weeks  of  July  there  were  three  ancient 
cheechas  who  passed  our  camp  every  afternoon  at 
sunset  on  their  way  to  sentry  duty,  and  every  morn- 
ing just  after  sunrise  they  returned.  We  could 
never  say  anything  to  one  another  except  "Dobra- 
vechie"  ("Good  evening")  and  "Dobra-utro" 


58         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

("Good  morning") ,  but  a  friendship  sprang  up  be- 
tween us,  nevertheless.  Month  after  month  this 
was  their  occupation,  oscillation  between  their  filthy, 
vermin-infested  abodes  in  Nish  and  that  desolate 
hilltop  where  they  watched  through  the  starlit  or 
stormy  nights.  They  had  beaten  out  a  narrow, 
dusty  path  through  the  upland  pastures,  monoto- 
nously treading  which,  munching  hunks  of  black 
bread  and  large  green  peppers,  they  symbolized 
the  cheechas'  existence. 

Their  childlike  natures  might  lead  one  to  suppose 
that  as  guards  they  would  not  be  worth  much,  but 
this  would  be  wrong.  Most  guard  duty  is  simple. 
You  stand  up  and  watch  a  place,  and  when  some 
one  comes  you  challenge  him.  If  his  answer  is 
satisfactory,  good;  if  not,  you  cover  him  with  your 
rifle  and  then  march  him  in  to  your  superior.  If  he 
disobeys,  you  shoot.  Nothing  is  said  about  exemp- 
tion. A  sentry  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  and  the 
simpler  minded  he  is,  the  less  of  a  respecter  is  he 
inclined  to  be. 

One  evening  a  man  of  our  camp  wandered  to  the 
precincts  sacred  to  our  three  cheechas.  He  heard 
a  loud  "Stoy!"  to  which,  instead  of  halting,  he  re- 
sponded, "Americanske"  and  kept  going.  An- 
other "Stoy!"  brought  the  same  result,  and  so  a 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        59 

third.  Then  out  of  the  dimness  loomed  a  hooded 
figure,  and  with  an  obsolete  rifle  blazed  away,  above 
the  trespasser's  head,  of  course,  but  not  greatly 
above  it,  a  sort  of  "William  Tell"  calculation. 
Swifter  than  the  roebuck  came  our  wanderer  home, 
down  the  dusty  trail,  hatless  and  breathless,  wise  in 
the  ways  of  cheechas. 

Near  Belgrade  one  night  a  gentleman  of  some 
military  consequence  decided  to  inspect  certain 
trenches.  Depending  upon  his  uniform  and  well- 
known  name,  he  did  not  bother  to  get  the  password. 

"And  do  you  know,"  he  told  me,  "two  bally  old 
chaps  from  Macedonia  who  spoke  no  known  lan- 
guage marched  me  a  mile  and  a  half  to  their  cap- 
tain, and  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  convince  the  stern 
beggars  that  I  had  a  right  to  my  uniform  and  was 
really  the  Britis^  military  attache." 

When  fighting  was  going  on  with  the  Bulgarians, 
not  very  far  from  Nish  last  autumn,  one  of  the 
American  Sanitary  Commission,  a  hopelessly  col- 
lege-bred person,  with  strong  laboratory  instincts, 
wandered  alone  and  unaided  about  the  environs 
of  the  city,  dreaming  of  hypothetical  water- 
supplies;  and  dreaming  thus,  he  wandered  into 
realms  he  wot  not  of,  and,  what  mattered  more,  into 
the  snug  nest  of  two  valiant  cheechas  set  to  guard 


60         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

a  road.  Two  days  later  inquiring  government  offi- 
cials, set  in  motion  by  still  more  inquisitive  friends, 
found  him  living  the  life  and  eating  the  food  of  the 
cheechas.  They  had  orders  not  to  leave  that  post, 
and  they  were  determined  that  he  should  not  until 
an  officer  had  seen  him. 

Despite  this  inconvenient,  unflinching  devotion 
to  the  letter  of  the  law,  I  found  a  softer  side  to  the 
cheechas.  One  afternoon  at  Nish  I  climbed  a 
steep  and  dusty  trail  up  one  of  the  neighboring  hills 
which  overlooks  for  thirty  miles  or  more  the  broad 
sweep  of  the  Morava.  Accompanying  me  was  a 
delightful,  but  really  distressingly  proper,  English 
lady  whom  I  had  recently  met.  A  rich  Balkan 
sunset  across  the  valley  was  well  worth  the  climb,  we 
thought,  but  to  the  gay  old  cheecha  we  found  at  the 
top  it  seemed  incredible  that  any  one  not  touched 
with  divine  madness  would  make  that  exertion  just 
to  see  the  sun  go  down.  With  ingenuous  and  em- 
barrassing signs  he  made  it  known  that  duty  held 
him  there,  but  that  we  need  not  mind;  and  there- 
upon, with  a  wink  as  inconspicuous  as  the  full  moon, 
he  turned  his  back  upon  us  and  so  remained.  We 
stood  that  back  as  long  as  it  was  humanly  possible  to 
stand  it,  and  then  rose  to  go ;  but  he  motioned  us  to 
stop,  and  running  to  a  clump  of  bushes,  he  pulled 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        61 

out  a  luscious  melon, — all  his  supper,  I  am  sure, — 
and  with  as  obvious  a  "Bless  you,  my  children!"  as  I 
ever  saw,  presented  it  to  us. 

They  are  made  of  a  fine  timber  these  cheechas. 
With  amazing  endurance  and  wearitig  qualities, 
nothing  seems  to  shake  them.  On  one  of  my  trips 
with  M.  Todolich  we  stopped  for  coffee  in  a  little 
village  near  Zajechar.  Of  course  the  only  men  in 
the  cafe  were  very  old,  too  worn  out  even  for  Ser- 
bian military  service.  Several  of  these  gathered 
about  our  table  to  hear  what  news  M.  Todolich 
could  give,  and  one  among  them  I  specially  noticed. 
I  am  sure  that  Job  in  the  last  stages  of  his  affliction 
approached  this  old  fellow  in  appearance.  He  had 
had  six  sons,  all  qf  whom  had  been  killed.  His  wife 
had  died  shortly  before,  and  just  the  previous  week 
a  great  flood  on  the  river  had  completely  destroyed 
his  home  and  livelihood;  and  had  drowned  his  one 
daughter-in-law  with  her  two  little  sons.  What 
would  you  say  to  a  man  of  seventy  five  who  has 
watched  his  life  go  by  like  that?  M.  Todolich  tried 
to  say  something,  and  I  heard  the  cheecha  reply 
in  a  few  Serbian  words  the  meaning  of  which  I 
did  not  understand,  nor  how  he  could  reply  at 
all  in  that  level,  uncomplaining,  perfectly  calm 
tone. 


62         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

"What  did  he  say?"  I  asked  the  interpreter. 

"He  says,  'God's  will  be  done.'  "  And  that  was 
all  we  heard  him  say. 

At  Dobrun  four  old  cronies  were  detailed  to  be 
"hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water"  to  our 
camp,  and  tirelessly  they  hewed  and  drew.  When, 
one  considers  the  deep-rooted,  constitutional  aver- 
sion to  work  which  is  without  doubt  the  Serbs'  worst 
drawback,  this  industry  on  their  part  appears  at  its 
true  value.  A  woman  journalist,  measuring  with 
her  profound  gaze  the  length  and  breadth  and  depth 
of  Serbia,  and  the  hearts  of  its  people,  in  a  junket 
of  a  couple  of  weeks  or  so,  has  insinuated  the  un- 
gratefulness and  cupidity  of  the  Serbs.  Nothing 
could  be  further  from  the  truth.  For  the  smallest 
acts  their  gratitude  overflows  all  bounds,  and  as  for 
pride,  no  peasants  of  Europe  can  approach  these 
lowly  people  in  their  dislike  of  dependence.  An 
appealing  desire  to  show  us  at  least  their  sense  of 
thankfulness  actuated  even  these  old  codgers  to  do 
things  which  by  nature  they  despised  to  do. 

At  first  our  Bosnian  menage  rotated  about  a 
refugee  cook  from  Vishegrad,  who,  had  she  not  been 
Serb,  would  certainly  have  been  Irish.  She  was  a 
leisurely  soul  who  refused  to  let  any  exigency  what- 
ever make  her  hasten.  On  the  first  pay-day  we 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        63 

missed  her,  and,  searching  the  camp,  finally  found 
her  in  the  cellar.  Alas !  she  was  a  disciple  of  Omar, 
and  not  to  be  awakened.  So  with  the  perfect  cour- 
tesy that  we  never  failed  to  encounter  from  Serbian 
officers,  the  major  at  Vardishte  sent  us  his  own 
cook,  a  cheecha,  and  by  far  the  sleekest,  best-fed, 
most  fortunate-looking  cheecha  I  ever  saw. 

There  was  something  undeniably  Falstaffian  in 
his  nature,  and  he  affected  a  certain  elaborate  mock 
dignity  which  made  me  give  him  at  once  the  respect- 
ful title  of  "Guspodin."  "Guspodin  Cook"  we 
called  him,  to  his  delight.  He  was  soon  referring 
to  himself  as  "Guspodin  Couk."  While  unpack- 
ing a  box  of  old  clothing  sent  out  by  well-meaning 
people  from  England  or  America,  we  came  across, 
amid  ball-dresses  and  stiff-bosomed  shirts,  a  bat- 
tered top-hat.  It  was  a  perfect  example  of  the  hat 
always  seen  askew  on  the  swinging  heads  of  stage 
inebriates,  but  it  took  Guspodin  Cook's  eye. 
Thereafter  he  was  never  seen  without  it,  whether 
peeling  potatoes,  carrying  away  garbage,  or  spin- 
ning a  yarn. 

Only  one  thing  on  earth  did  he  prefer  to  cooking, 
and  that  was  telling  stories.  Sitting  about  the 
great  fire  which  we  always  made  of  pine-logs  after 
supper,  our  American-Serb  soldiers  would  get  Gus- 


64         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

podin  Cook  wound  up  and  translate  for  us.  I 
could  never  rid  myself  of  a  sneaking  suspicion 
that  our  honorable  chef  had  never  seen  a  battle- 
line  ;  he  was  too  good  a  cook.  But  I  had  no  proof 
of  this  from  his  speeches.  His  chef-d'oeuvre,  the 
piece  de  resistance,  of  his  narrative  larder,  which  he 
always  got  off  while  sitting  tailor  fashion,  his  "Al 
Jolson"  hat  cocked  over  one  eye,  went  something 
like  this : 

One  day  last  winter,  after  we  had  run  the  Suabas  out 
of  Serbia  and  I  was  stationed  up  here,  I  asked  my  cap- 
tain to  let  me  make  a  visit  to  my  family  at  Valjevo. 
He  told  me  I  could,  so  I  started  out  to  walk  home.  I 
got  to  Ouchitze  in  two  days  all  right,  and  after  resting 
there  a  little  while  started  out  on  the  way  to  Valjevo. 
The  road  runs  over  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  a  wild 
country,  and  hardly  anybody  lives  there.  Once  in  a 
while  I  found  traces  of  the  fighting  that  had  been  done 
the  month  before,  but  now  the  whole  country  was  quiet, 
and  I  met  no  one  at  all,  not  even  any  Serbian  soldiers. 
About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  I  heard  a  cannon  go 
off  four  or  five  kilometers  away,  and  I  heard  something 
terrible  tear  through  the  trees  not  far  to  my  left.  I 
could  n't  imagine  what  a  cannon  was  doing  there,  with 
no  army  within  fifty  kilometers  and  no  fighting  going  on 
at  all.  While  I  was  wondering,  a  big  shell  tore  up  the 
road  a  few  hundred  meters  ahead  of  me.  Then  I  knew 
the  Suabas  had  slipped  back  into  Serbia,  and  I  began 
to  run.  I  heard  a  lot  more  shots,  and  I  kept  on  going. 


Wounded  Cheechas  being  transported  to  a  hospital 


A  Cheecha  flashing  army  dispatches  by  means  of  a  heliograph 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        67 

In  an  hour  I  came  to  a  village  where  there  were  some 
gendarmes.  I  told  them  the  Suabas  were  coming  right 
behind  me,  but  they  said  that  I  was  a  liar.  Then  I  said 
for  them  to  go  back  up  the  road  on  their  horses  and  see. 
But  they  made  me  go  back  with  them. 

We  went  to  where  the  shot  had  hit  the  road,  and  while 
we  were  standing  around  looking  at  it,  we  heard  the 
cannon  again ;  but  the  shell  did  n't  come  our  way  this 
time.  We  turned  into  a  wood  road  that  led  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  the  sound  came.  Soon  we  were  nearly 
knocked  off  our  horses  by  another  shot,  which  went  off 
right  at  us  behind  a  lot  of  thick  bushes  on  our  left.  We 
stopped  short  to  listen,  but  couldn't  hear  anything. 
The  gendarmes  were  scared  to  death  now,  but  I  was  all 
right.  I  said,  "Come  on ;  let 's  go  there  and  see  who  is 
shooting  up  the  country."  They  said  it  was  mighty 
strange.  Suabas  would  n't  be  acting  like  that,  and  one 
of  'em,  Mitrag,  said  a  battle  had  been  fought  about  where 
we  were  and  a  lot  of  good  men  killed  and  he  did  n't  know 
— maybe  some  of  'em  had  come  back  to  life. 

But  I  led  up  to  the  bushes,  and  we  crawled  to  where 
we  could  see  a  clear  space  behind.  There  was  a  Suaba 
field-gun  all  right,  with  a  lot  of  ammuniton  piled  up.  A 
good  many  empty  shells  were  lying  about,  too;  but  there 
was  n't  anybody — no  Guspodin,  I  swear  it ;  not  a  sign 
of  any  Suaba  or  anybody  around  that  place.  The  gen- 
darmes lay  there  on  their  bellies,  but  I  jumped  up  and  ran 
to  the  gun  crying,  "Long  live  Serbia."  I  put  my  hand 
on  the  gun,  but  jerked  it  away  mighty  quick.  It  was 
hot  enough  to  boil  soup  on,  almost.  I  picked  up  some  of 
the  shells,  and  they  were  hot,  too.  Guspodin,  I  began 
to  shiver  and  jump  about  like  a  restless  horse.  Here  was 


68         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

a  hot  gun  and  hot  shells,  and  no  enemy  in  the  country  at 
all,  and  nobody  around  the  gun;  and,  anyway,  the  shots 
had  been  scattered  all  over  the  country  without  any  aim. 
It  seemed  almost  as  if  something  or  other  had  come  back 
to  life  and  was  shooting  that  gun  just  because  it  was  in 
the  habit  of  doing  it.  I  was  about  ready  to  go  back  to 
those  gendarmes  when  they  began  to  yell,  and  started 
out  through  the  brush  like  rabbits.  "There  they  are! 
Get  'em !  Get  'em !"  they  said,  and  would  n't  stop  a  min- 
ute to  answer  me.  Then  I  decided  the  best  thing  for  me 
was  to  get  back  to  the  horses,  which  I  did. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  gendarmes  came  up,  leading  four 
boys  about  fifteen  years  old.  They  were  clawing  and 
biting  and  putting  up  a  good  fight.  At  last  the  gen- 
darmes got  them  quiet  and  made  'em  tell  their  story. 
They  said  they  had  found  the  gun  and  ammunition  there 
not  long  after  the  Suabas  went  away.  They  supposed 
they  had  gone  in  such  a  hurry  that  there  was  n't  time  to 
break  up  the  gun,  and  our  soldiers  had  n't  found  it. 
They  said  they  had  been  trying  to  make  it  go  off  for  two 
weeks,  but  had  just  found  out  how  that  day.  They 
did  n't  mean  any  harm ;  it  was  fun,  and  away  out  in  the 
woods  where  they  would  n't  hurt  anybody,  they  said. 
That  was  enough;  each  one  of  us  cut  a  long  stick  and 
took  a  boy  for  half  a  hour.  Then  we  went  off  and  re- 
ported the  gun  to  the  army. 

With  this  final  statement  Guspodin  Cook  would 
always  take  off  the  top-hat,  wipe  the  noble  brow 
beneath,  and  place  it  tenderly  on  again  slanted  at 
the  opposite  angle. 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        69 

He  had  a  curious  theory  that  by  some  strange 
sense  children  always  detected  when  war  would 
come.  He  could  give  numerous  examples  to  prove 
his  statement.  One  was  that  whenever  the  chil- 
dren all  over  the  country  were  seized  with  a  desire 
to  play  at  war,  real  war  was  sure  to  come  soon.  He 
said  that  in  July  of  1914  all  over  Serbia  he  had 
never  before  seen  the  children  playing  soldier  so 
much ;  and,  lowering  his  voice,  he  told  us  that  now 
he  saw  them  at  it  again  everywhere,  so  that  "Some- 
thing was  coming  soon."  Heaven  knows  this 
prophecy  at  least  was  true. 

Such  were  the  cheechas  whom,  on  that  fine  au- 
tumn morning,  I  watched  go  down  to  Vishegrad. 
Our  four  orderlies  were  with  them,  and  also  Gus- 
podin  Cook.  His  time  had  come  at  last.  Serbia 
was  now  facing  a  period  when  no  man  able  to  stand 
alone  could  be  spared  from  the  battle-line.  Chee- 
cha  always  has  been  a  term  of  deep  respect  and  love 
among  the  Serbs,  and  rightly  so;  but  after  this  war 
they  will  hold  a  ten  times  stronger  lien  on  the  affec- 
tions of  their  country.  Young  troops,  fresh  and 
perfectly  munitioned,  were  awaiting  them  in  the 
enemy  trenches  on  the  Drina — troops  that  these  old 
grandfathers  could  not  hope  to  stop. 

They  knew  what  they  were  going  into;  they  had 


70         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

no  illusions.  Distributing  among  them  thousands 
of  cigarettes  of  which  I  had  become  possessed,  I 
gathered  from  their  words  of  thanks  how  much 
hope  they  had  of  ever  coming  back.  "These  win 
be  all  I  '11  ever  want,"  one  gray-bearded  scarecrow 
remarked  to  our  interpreter  when  I  gave  him  a  hun- 
dred. He  and  the  others  seemed  neither  sorry  nor 
glad.  Somebody  had  to  go.  They  were  chosen, 
and  there  was  an  end  to  it.  They  were  as  com- 
pletely wiped  out  as  troops  can  be,  dying  almost  to 
a  man.  And  during  the  nightmare  of  the  next  ten 
weeks,  wherever  the  fourth  line  had  to  bear  the 
brunt,  they  distinguished  themselves.  Many  epi- 
sodes could  be  told,  but  the  defense  of  Chachak  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  most  remarkable. 

Chachak  is  on  the  narrow-gage  Ouchitze 
branch  of  the  Orient  Railway.  Not  far  to  the 
south  is  Kraljevo.  When  the  first  great  onslaught 
of  the  Bulgarians  carried  them  by  sheer  weight  of 
numbers  to  the  environs  of  Nish,  the  capital  was 
moved  to  Chachak,  supposedly  a  temporarily  safe 
retreat.  But  the  Germans,  as  usual,  did  not  fight 
according  to  their  enemies'  surmise.  Risking  most 
difficult  roads,  they  suddenly  threatened  the  new 
capital  from  the  northwest,  forcing  the  Govern- 
ment southward,  first  to  Kraljevo,  then  to  Rashka, 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA        71 

Mitrovitze,  Prizrend,  and  Scutari.  The  cheechas 
defended  Chachak.  Three  times  the  Germans 
wrested  the  town  from  them,  and  each  time  the 
cheechas  retook  it.  Only  when  four  fifths  of  them 
had  been  put  out  of  action  did  the  Germans  finally 
succeed  in  holding  the  place. 

With  rifles  of  every  possible  description,  too 
old  for  real  soldiers,  rejected  by  the  first  three 
lines  of  defence,  the  cheechas  of  Chachak  faced  as 
fine  troops  as  Germany  could  muster,  perfectly 
equipped,  splendidly  provisioned,  and  feeling  with 
increasing  assurance  a  whole  nation  crumbling  be- 
fore them.  For  the  cheecha  knows  not  only  how 
to  thrive  on  half  a  pound  of  dry  bread  a  day,  and 
nothing  else ;  he  knows  how  to  lie  against  a  tree  or 
turn  himself  into  a  stone,  and  with  Serbia  in  her 
death-grip,  he  only  wished  to  die. 

I  believe  the  cheechas  felt  the  loss  of  their  coun- 
try more  keenly  than  any  one  else.  Most  of  them 
had  lived  through  nearly  all  of  her  free  history. 
Unlike  the  educated  Serb,  they  could  not  see  a 
bright  political  lining  behind  the  present  pall  of 
blackness.  But  I  have  yet  to  hear  a  complaint 
from  one  of  them.  There  was  Dan,  one  of  the  or- 
derlies who  retreated  with  the  English  nurses.  He 
had  been  to  America,  and  he  had  numerous  fail- 


72         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

ings,  but  no  one  could  see  him  at  that  time  without 
forgetting  everything  except  his  grief.  The  suf- 
fering he  underwent,  the  cold  and  hunger,  seemed 
to  matter  nothing  to  him;  but  by  the  hour  at  night 
he  would  squat  by  his  smoldering  fire  and  mumble : 

"Whata  I  care  'bout  myself?  Whata  I  'mount 
to?  T'ree  million  people  lost!  Nuthin'  else  don't 
matter.  T'ree  million  people — free  million — 
lost!" 

All  Serbs  love  to  sing,  and  most  of  their  songs 
have  a  mournful  tinge.  The  more  uncomfortable 
the  Serb  becomes,  the  louder  and  longer  he  sings. 
When,  seven  weeks  after  Chachak,  I  passed  a  com- 
pany of  the  fourth  line  on  top  of  the  Montenegrin 
mountains,  during  days  when  there  was  absolutely 
no  food  for  them,  when  they  saw  their  comrades 
drop  by  the  hundred,  dead  of  starvation,  cold,  and 
exhaustion,  when  not  one  foot  of  Serbian  soil  was 
free,  separated  from  their  families  in  all  probability 
forever,  at  the  best  for  years,  miserable,  it  seemed 
to  me,  beyond  all  human  endurance,  the  cheechas 
were  singing.  I  cannot  forget  that  song.  The 
fine  sleet  cut  their  faces,  and  formed  grotesque 
icicles  on  their  woolly  beards.  The  mountain 
wind  blew  their  voices  to  shreds — voices  mechan- 
ical, dreary,  hopeless,  unlike  any  Serbians  I  had 


THE  CHEECHAS  OF  SERBIA         73 

ever  heard  before.  Not  until  I  was  right  among 
them  did  I  recognize  the  song,  a  popular  one  that 
had  sprung  up  since  the  war,  its  content  being  that 
"the  Suabas  are  building  houses  the  Serbians  shall 
live  in;  the  Suabas  are  planting  corn  the  Serbians 
shall  eat ;  the  Suabas  are  pressing  wine  the  Serbians 
shall  drink." 

The  irony  was  sharp,  but  when  one  has  lived 
in  hell  for  ten  weeks  and  is  freezing  to  death  on  a 
mountain-top,  one  hears  no  trivial  sarcasms,  but 
only  the  great  irony  of  life.  Or  so  the  cheechas 
seemed  to  feel. 


CHAPTER  III 

EVACUATION    SCENES 

TWO  weeks  after  I  saw  the  cheechas  go  down 
to  Vishegrad  I  motored  to  Valjevo,  where 
were  the  headquarters  of  the  first  Serbian  army. 
This  was  the  sixth  of  October,  the  day  on  which  the 
Austrians  and  Germans  crossed  the  Drina,  the 
Save,  and  the  Danube,  and  the  bombardment  of 
Belgrade  was  begun  in  earnest.  Two  days  later, 
through  confidential  sources,  I  got  news  of  the 
serious  situation,  but  it  was  not  until  refugees  began 
to  pour  in  from  the  Save  that  the  general  public  of 
Valjevo  knew  anything  of  the  fate  of  their  capital. 
General  Mishich  was  in  command  of  the  first  Ser- 
bian army  at  Valjevo,  while  farther  to  the  east  the 
second  army  was  centered  at  Mladenovats  under 
General  Stepanovich,  and  beyond  the  Morava, 
General  Sturm  had  the  headquarters  of  the  third 
army  at  Posharevats.  General  Zivkovich,  known 
throughout  Serbia  as  the  "Iron  General,"  was  in 
separate  command  of  the  defense  of  Belgrade. 
Soon  after  the  fall  of  the  capital  the  three  armies 

74 


EVACUATION  SCENES  75 

began  their  retreat  southward  in  parallel  lines,  the 
third  army  being  driven  more  to  the  westward 
by  the  Bulgarians.  After  traversing  about  two 
thirds  the  length  of  Serbia,  all  three  bent  sharply 
westward  toward  the  frontier  between  Prizrend  and 
Ipek,  and,  after  a  conference  of  the  three  com- 
manders at  the  latter  place,  made  their  marvelous, 
but  heartbreaking,  retreat  through  the  Albanian 
and  Montenegrin  mountains.  This  is  a  brief  gen- 
eral summary  of  what  the  official  communiques 
have  to  say.  The  hardship  and  suffering  of  both 
soldiers  and  civilians  during  these  simple  manoeu- 
vers  a  thousand  books  could  not  adequately  de- 
scribe. 

While  the  fall  of  Belgrade  created  a  serious  situ- 
ation at  once,  there  was  no  immediate  peril  at  Val- 
jevo.  One  day  at  this  time,  with  the  prefect  of 
the  district,  I  motored  some  fifty  kilometers  due 
north  to  Obrenovats.  There  had  been  an  inces- 
sant rain  for  two  weeks,  and  the  road  was  almost 
impassable  even  for  the  automobile  we  were  using. 
It  was  a  terrible  ride,  and  we  arrived  at  the  Colonel's 
headquarters,  only  a  few  kilometers  behind  the 
trenches,  wet,  cold,  and  very  hungry,  the  last  being 
our  greatest  concern,  for  it  seemed  the  most  deso- 
late spot  imaginable,  and  we  had  brought  no  pro- 


76         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

visions  with  us.  We  could  not  continue  to  Obreno- 
vats  because  it  was  being  violently  shelled.  Sit- 
ting on  boxes  around  a  rough  pine  table,  we  lunched 
with  the  Colonel  on — delicious  Russian  caviar  and 
French  champagne !  I  do  not  know  how  he  worked 
this  miracle;  I  shall  always  wonder. 
•  Twenty-four  hours  later,  however,  the  Aus- 
trians  were  where  we  had  lunched,  and,  indeed,  a 
great  deal  farther  along,  and  we  were  evacuating 
Valjevo.  Kragujevats  was  also  preparing  for 
evacuation,  the  arsenals  being  emptied  and  the 
munition  factories  smashed. 

Both  these  places  were  large  hospital  centers, 
and  after  the  first  few  days  of  fighting  both  were 
crowded  with  wounded.  Before  I  left  Valjevo 
the  hospitals  had  been  emptied  of  all  but  the  most 
desperate  cases,  and  it  required  a  very  desperate 
condition  indeed  to  force  the  Serbian  patients  to 
stay  behind.  The  period  of  dreary,  continuous 
rainfall  continued,  and  it  was  into  a  sea  of  water 
and  mud  that  the  wounded  had  to  flee.  I  stood  on 
a  street  corner  opposite  one  of  the  largest  hospitals 
in  Valjevo  and  watched  the  patients  come  out  on 
their  way  to  the  railway  station.  I  did  not  hear 
about  this ;  I  saw  it.  Nearly  all  the  hobbling,  ban- 
daged, bloody,  emaciated  men  were  bareheaded. 


EVACUATION  SCENES  77 

Before  they  got  ten  feet  from  the  door  they  were 
soaked  to  the  skin.  The  bandages  became  soggy 
sponges,  and  wounds  began  to  bleed  afresh.  There 
were  foreheads,  cheeks,  arms,  legs,  and  feet  in- 
cased in  cloths  dank  with  watery  blood,  and  soon 
filthy  with  the  street  slush.  The  worst  of  it  was 
that  not  only  did  virtually  all  lack  overcoats,  but 
many  were  barefooted  and  in  cotton  pajamas. 

They  refused  to  stay  and  be  captured.  There 
were  no  more  clothes  for  them,  so  they  faced  a  jour- 
ney in  the  pouring  rain,  no  one  knew  where  nor  how 
long.  Some  could  not  walk  alone,  and  these  the 
stronger  aided.  This  determination  never  to  be 
prisoners  was  general  throughout  the  hospitals  of 
Serbia.  That  is  why  in  the  next  two  weeks  the 
railway  stations,  the  rest-houses  of  the  Red  Cross, 
and  even  the  railway-yards  were  dotted  with  rigid 
forms  of  men  who  had  breathed  their  last  in  soaked, 
bloody  clothing,  lying  on  vile  floors  or  in  the  mud. 
Why  were  they  not  forced  to  remain  in  the  hospi- 
tals? I  do  not  know.  I  doubt  if  any  power  on 
earth  could  have  kept  them  there.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain sort  of  man  who  cannot  be  made  to  do  a  cer- 
tain sort  of  thing.  The  Serb  never  believes  he  is 
going  to  die  until  he  is  dead,  and  the  wounded 
Serbs  wanted  to  fight  again. 


78         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

There  were  no  vehicles  to  take  them  to  the  rail- 
way station,  and  when  they  arrived  there  it  was  not 
to  get  into  comfortable  hospital-trains,  the  few  of 
these  that  Serbia  had  being  utterly  insufficient  for 
the  hordes  of  wounded.  As  long  as  the  covered 
coaches  lasted  they  poured  into  them,  and  then  they 
boarded  the  open  freight-trucks.  I  watched  them 
get  on  like  this  at  Valjevo,  but  it  was  not  the  last 
I  saw  of  them  and  thousands  like  them. 

Many  nurses  and  doctors  told  me  about  the 
scenes  at  Kragujevats.  This  place  was  the  head- 
quarters for  the  huge  Stobari  mission  as  well  as  for 
other  hospitals.  It  had  comfortable  accommoda- 
tions for  not  more  than  three  thousand  patients. 
During  the  week  of  the  Belgrade  bombardment 
more  than  ten  thousand  came  there.  Most  of  them 
were  pretty  well  shot  to  pieces.  The  wards  were 
filled,  the  floor  spaces  were  filled,  the  corridors  were 
filled,  tents  were  filled,  and  finally  wounded  men  lay 
thick  in  the  yards,  awaiting  their  turn  at  the  hasty 
care  the  cruelly  overworked  doctors  and  nurses 
could  give.  For  a  week  or  ten  days  this  kept  up, 
then  evacuation  began.  The  scenes  of  Valjevo 
were  reenacted,  but  on  a  greater  scale.  Again  the 
open  trucks  that  were  meant  for  coal  and  lumber 
were  piled  with  horribly  suffering  men. 


EVACUATION  SCENES  79 

In  telling  of  the  harrowing  finish  of  the  work  of 
these  hospitals,  which  for  the  most  part  had  been 
sent  out  from  neutral  or  allied  countries,  it  seems 
to  me  only  just  to  pause  a  moment  and  give  a  little 
information,  as  accurately  as  I  could  gather  it, 
about  the  work  of  Americans  in  Serbia,  even  though 
it  does  not  tally  with  popular  impressions  in  this 
country.  I  believe  it  is  about  as  reliable  as  such 
information  can  be,  and  I  unhesitatingly  give  my 
sources. 

If  anything  besides  natural  conditions  stopped 
the  typhus  in  Serbia,  it  is  to  Russian  money  and 
Russian  workers  that  more  credit  should  go  than  to 
any  other  agency.  America  did  something,  but 
not  very  much,  toward  stamping  out  typhus. 
What  she  did  do  has  been  blatantly  advertised  in 
this  country. 

When  in  the  last  part  of  January,  1916,  I  re- 
turned to  New  York,  a  representative  of  one  of  our 
greatest  American  dailies  came  on  board.  The 
paper  he  represents  has  the  reputation  of  employ- 
ing only  expert  reporters,  and  "ship-news"  men 
are  supposed  to  be  specially  keen.  He  came  up  to 
the  group  of  first  cabin  passengers — only  nine  of 
us  in  all — evidently  intent  on  getting  a  "story." 
He  was  on  a  good  trail.  Besides  several  Ameri- 


80         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

cans  who  had  seen  the  war  inside  out  on  many 
fronts,  there  was  among  us  the  chief  surgeon  of  the 
Imperial  Russian  hospitals  of  Nish,  Dr.  S.  Sar- 
gentich  of  Seattle.  Dr.  Sargentich  probably 
knows  more  about  what  has  been  done  for  the  relief 
of  Serbia  than  any  other  man  in  America.  Also 
he  has  many  interesting  personal  experiences. 
Alone  at  Arangelovats  for  nearly  a  month,  he 
faced  a  situation  which  was  perhaps  extreme  even 
for  that  terrible  epidemic,  but  which  illustrates 
pretty  well  the  general  condition  throughout  the 
country.  In  his  hospital  there  were  nine  hundred 
typhus  patients  and  several  hundred  more  in  the 
town.  He  had  started  with  fifty-seven  unskilled 
soldiers  as  nurses  and  orderlies.  All  of  them  came 
down  with  typhus  almost  at  once.  He  had  had  six 
assistant  doctors;  all  got  typhus,  and  one  died. 
Finally  the  cooks,  treasurer,  commissary-man,  and 
pharmacist  came  down.  The  doctor  and  four  or- 
derlies reigned  supreme  over  this  pleasant  com- 
pany. No  aid  could  be  sent  to  him.  America  had 
as  yet  scarcely  realized  that  such  a  thing  as  typhus 
existed  in  Serbia. 

Dr.  Sargentich  speaks  all  the  Balkan  languages 
as  well  as  French,  German,  and  Russian.  Born 
in  Dalmatia,  in  his  youth  he  passed  many  years 


EVACUATION  SCENES  81 

among  the  wild  mountaineers  of  Montenegro  and 
Albania,  and  he  has  an  insight  into  the  Balkans 
that  few  can  match.  He  holds  degrees  from  our 
best  universities,  and  several  times  has  received  high 
decorations,  particularly  from  Russia  and  Mon- 
tenegro. The  King  of  Italy  and  the  King  of  Mon- 
tenegro have  repeatedly  expressed  their  admira- 
tion for  him  and  his  work.  He  was  in  Serbia 
eighteen  months,  and,  what  sets  him  off  from  nearly 
all  of  the  workers  we  sent  over,  he  drew  no  salary. 
Dr.  Sargentich  had  a  story,  even  though  it  would 
have  required  a  little  persuasion  to  get  it  out  of  him. 

The  reporter  faithfully  took  our  names,  being 
very  careful  to  spell  them  correctly,  and  on  the  ad- 
vice of  one  of  the  party  turned  to  Dr.  Sargentich. 

"Let 's  see,  er — er — you  were  in  Serbia,  Doctor? 
What  did  you  find  to  do  there?" 

"I  was  interested  in  the  Russian  hospitals." 

"Russian?  Russian,  did  you  say?  How's 
that?  Russians  in  Serbia — :why,  man,  they're  at 
war!" 

Ceasing  his  questioning  after  a  moment,  which 
was  well,  he  pulled  out  a  kodak  and  took  pictures. 

Glancing  over  an  index  to  American  periodicals 
of  the  preceding  year,  I  found  such  titles  as  these, 
"Sanitary  Relief  Work  in  Serbia,"  "American  Re- 


82         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

lief  in  Serbia,"  "Serbia  Saved  by  Americans." 
There  are  dozens  of  such  articles  advertising  our 
work  done  there.  Somewhere  there  may  be  a  com- 
parison of  our  work  with  the  work  of  other  nations, 
but  if  so,  I  have  failed  to  find  it.  The  English  and 
French  certainly  have  done  their  part  in  the  relief 
of  Serbia,  but  the  Russians,  being  first  on  the 
ground  and  the  only  nation  as  far  as  I  know  to  have 
any  really  important  contingents  at  work  during 
the  height  of  the  typhus  epidemic,  must  serve  as  a 
comparison  with  us. 

In  the  estimates  that  follow  I  have  in  both  in- 
stances included  workers  of  all  description  except 
those  employed  directly  by  the  Serbian  Govern- 
ment on  a  business  basis.  Perhaps  a  score  of 
American  doctors  went  out  under  this  arrangement. 
Dr.  Sargentich  has  furnished  me  with  the  Russian 
estimates,  while  the  American  figures  are  compiled 
from  data  found  in  the  "Annual  Report  of  the 
Bureau  of  Medical  Service  for  1915,"  Major 
Robert  U.  Patterson,  Chief  of  Bureau,  of  the 
American  Red  Cross. 

According  to  Dr.  Sargentich,  the  typhus  epi- 
demic began  in  Serbia  at  Valjevo  about  December 
20,  1914.  By  March  15,  1915,  it  was  "thoroughly 
under  control."  So  that  about  the  time  we  were 


EVACUATION  SCENES  83 

beginning  to  realize  it,  the  epidemic  was  over. 
In  September,  1914,  Russia  sent  up  from  Sa- 
loniki  two  doctors,  two  sanitary  inspectors,  and  five 
nurses.  On  October  15,  1914,  three  doctors  and 
twelve  nurses  arrived  in  Belgrade  from  America. 
By  November  1,  1914,  Russia  had  four  doctors, 
ten  nurses,  and  two  sanitary  inspectors,  while 
America  had  the  original  three  doctors  and  twelve 
nurses.  By  January  15,  1915,  when  the  epidemic 
was  well  under  way,  America  had  seven  doctors  and 
twenty-four  nurses,  whereas  Russia  had  sent  in 
ten  doctors,  one  hundred  and  ten  nurses  and  order- 
lies, with  equipment  costing  more  than  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  The  Russians  had 
also  built  numerous  hospital  barracks,  while  the 
Americans  used  buildings  furnished  by  the  Serbian 
Government.  This  was  the  ratio  of  the  two  na- 
tions during  the  worst  of  the  typhus;  our  seven 
doctors  to  their  ten,  our  twenty-four  nurses  to  their 
hundred  and  ten.  The  value  of  our  equipment  I 
could  not  learn,  but  it  did  not  approach  their  quar- 
ter of  a  million  dollars.  Both  forces  were  so  piti- 
fully insufficient  to  meet  the  need  that  it  seems 
an  impertinence  even  to  enumerate  them.  Both 
groups  lost  some  of  their  bravest,  and  both  faced 
terrific  risks,  acting  in  the  most  heroic  manner. 


84         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

The  relief  workers  of  all  nations  who  came  after 
March  ran  virtually  no  danger  from  the  disease, 
and  the  lurid  accounts  given  after  this  date  are 
mainly  imaginary.  Most  of  the  American  workers 
came  months  after  this  date.  The  first  contingent 
of  the  American  Sanitary  Commission  sailed  from 
New  York  April  3,  1915,  and  the  second  on  May 
17.  It  was  well  into  June  before  they  could  begin 
any  sort  of  work.  The  Columbia  University  Re- 
lief Expedition  sailed  from  New  York  on  June  27, 
and  was  to  return  on  September  15.  A  month  was 
required  to  reach  Nish  and  organize.  The  Froth- 
ingham  unit  is  not  included  because  of  lack  of  data. 
It  was  not  large. 

When  typhus  was  fast  waning,  by  March  25, 
1915,  America  still  had  only  seven  doctors  and 
twenty-four  nurses,  although  to  the  Russian  force 
of  ten  doctors  and  one  hundred  and  ten  nurses  had 
been  added  a  very  large  unit,  the  exact  number  of 
which  I  could  not  learn.  This  new  unit  was  to 
prepare  for  the  expected  return  of  typhus  in  the 
autumn,  much  the  same  object  that  the  American 
Sanitary  Commission  had  but  three  months  earlier 
on  the  ground  and  with  equipment  twenty  times 
as  valuable.  They  spent  two  million  dollars  and 
built  hospitals  for  four  thousand  patients,  and  this 


EVACUATION  SCENES  85 

in  addition  to  the  quarter  of  a  million  dollars  al- 
ready expended.  I  am  unable  to  give  figures  for 
the  American  expenditure.  At  the  very  greatest 
estimate  for  all  American  activities  in  Serbia  it  is 
far  less  than  a  million  dollars.  The  Sanitary  Com- 
mission began  with  appropriations  of  forty  thou- 
sand. How  much  they  later  expended  I  do  not 
know.  They  employed  young  sanitary  engineers 
at  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  month  and  all 
expenses.  The  Columbia  Expedition  represented 
an  outlay  of  about  thirty  thousand  dollars,  every 
one  connected  with  it  being  absolutely  without 
salary. 

The  largest  totals  for  the  two  nations  at  any  time 
are:  twenty-nine  American  doctors  to  forty-five 
Russian;  seventy-four  American  nurses,  sanitary 
inspectors,  and  chauffeurs  to  more  than  four  hun- 
dred similar  Russian  workers.  In  addition,  Russia 
built  hospitals  for  four  thousand  patients  and  spent 
more  than  two  and  a  half  millions,  while  we  spent 
less  than  a  million  and  built  no  hospitals. 

Obviously  Serbia  was  not  saved  by  Americans. 
The  much-talked-of  Sanitary  Commission  had  only 
to  do  with  the  fifteen  southern  districts.  The 
French  and  English  took  care  of  this  sort  of  work 
in  the  rest  of  the  country. 


86         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

In  Belgium,  England  has  spent  many  times  as 
much  as  America.  Of  course  it  was  "her  job" 
more  than  ours,  but  we  hear  so  much  of  what  we  do! 
The  English  expenditures  in  Serbia  have  also  been 
enormous.  A  little  thought  and  a  few  figures  thus 
readily  show  that  our  well-known  relief  workers  are 
also  good  advertisers. 

I  do  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood.  I  am  not 
arguing  that  we  ought  or  ought  not  to  help  Europe 
when  there  is  so  much  needed  at  home.  I  am  not 
arguing  at  all.  I  am  merely  trying  to  gage  as 
accurately  as  possible  what  has  actually  been  done, 
in  order  to  furnish  some  sort  of  criterion  by  which 
to  judge  the  oft-repeated  sentiment  that  we  are 
binding  unfortunate  nations  to  us  by  our  stupen- 
dous generosity.  The  conviction  that  no  nation  at 
all  has  ever  been  or  ever  will  be  bound  to  another 
(at  least  to  the  extent  of  real  aid  in  time  of  trouble) 
except  by  the  natural  ties  of  self-interest  is  a  purely 
personal  view.  I  give  the  facts  as  I  found  them. 

But  whatever  the  origin  of  the  hospitals,  they 
were  now  throwing  their  gruesome  burdens  upon 
the  railways,  which,  when  the  enemy  approached, 
dumped  them  out  on  the  muddy  roads  that  led 
into  the  wilderness,  where  they  died.  Traveling 
southward  down  the  main  line  at  this  time,  amid 


EVACUATION  SCENES  87 

the  wildest  confusion  of  thousands  of  families  rush- 
ing away  with  only  what  could  be  carried  on  their 
backs,  and  of  vast  military  stores  being  moved  with 
no  time  for  proper  organization,  of  congested 
tracks  and  inexperienced  trainmen,  and  the  thou- 
sand and  one  incidents  of  a  wholesale  hegira,  the 
thing  which  impressed  me  most,  and  which  still 
lingers  in  my  mind,  is  that  flood  of  mangled, 
maimed  humanity. 

The  horror  of  it  grew  in  extent  and  intensity  as 
we  passed  from  Valjevo  to  Mladenovats,  Yago- 
dina,  Chupriya,  and  culminated  at  Krushevats  in 
suffering  soldiers  multiplied  ten  thousand  times. 
Krushevats  was  the  sort  of  picture  which,  having 
once  been  seen,  changes  forever  the  aspect  of  life. 
If  I  were  asked  to  give  the  death  of  Serbia  in  a  few 
sentences,  I  should  tell  of  a  tearless  woman  beside 
the  shreds  of  her  little  boy,  struck  down  by  an 
aeroplane  bomb  for  "moral  effect" ;  of  old  men  and 
young  men,  old  women  and  young  women,  boys  and 
girls,  starving  hopelessly  in  a  frozen  wilderness; 
of  the  Serbian  army  groping  and  staggering  into 
Scutari;  and  of  the  wounded  at  Krushevats.  One 
does  not  get  rid  of  such  pictures.  One  goes  on  liv- 
ing with  them  long  after  the  events  themselves. 
They  are  seen  in  the  bright  shop  windows  and  in 


88         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  theaters.  All  music  speaks  of  them:  if  shallow, 
it  mocks;  if  deep  enough,  it  eulogizes  or  mourns. 
Sleep  only  makes  them  more  vivid.  They  are 
spread  upon  all  that  one  writes  or  reads.  So  I  was 
startled  when  I  read  in  the  "New  York  Tribune" 
an  account  by  Gordon  Gordon- Smith,  who  trod  for 
a  while  the  same  paths  as  myself.  He  writes  under 
the  date  of  November  6.  I  left  Krushevats  on  the 
morning  of  November  3.  He  saw  the  Krushevats 
horror  three  days  later  than  I.  When  I  left,  it 
was  getting  worse,  more  wounded  coming  in, 
greater  congestion,  less  care.  When  I  last  saw  it, 
the  economic  life  of  Krushevats,  its  social  life,  its 
citizens,  its  garrison,  its  refugees  were  bowed  down 
as  seldom  in  the  world's  history  humanity  has  been 
bowed  down.  Everything  belonging  to  the  old  nor- 
mal life  was  gone.  Purple  clouds  of  overwhelm- 
ing woe  had  intervened,  and  Krushevats  that  day 
was  a  place  new  and  very  terrible.  Huge  crowds 
were  in  the  streets  searching  for  food,  for  lost 
friends,  for  lost  families.  The  floors  of  every  avail- 
able building  were  covered  thick  with  filthy,  bloody 
men. 

Something  miraculous,  something  that  changed 
the  temper  of  Krushevats'  mourning  thousands, 
must  have  happened  between  November  3  and  No- 


EVACUATION  SCENES  89 

vember  6.  Gordon  Gordon- Smith  says  something 
did — something  that  is  all  the  more  remarkable  be- 
cause it  is  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  any  known 
national  characteristic  of  the  Serbs,  but  directly 
contradictory  to  all  the  evidence  I  have  ever  read 
about  them  and  what  I  have  seen  of  them  in  an  ex- 
perience which  will,  I  believe,  compare  favorably 
in  extent  with  his.  Mr.  Gordon- Smith,  with  true 
British  directness,  says  that,  on  November  6,  Kru- 
shevats  got  drunk.  He  does  not  say  he  saw  one 
or  a  dozen  or  a  thousand  people  drunk  in  the  city. 
He  does  not  leave  us  the  comfort  of  thinking  that 
he  may  be  speaking  of  that  irreducible  quantity  of 
care-free  do-nothings,  innocent  or  vicious,  who  are 
to  be  found  in  any  crowd,  and  who  without  doubt 
would  have  speedily  availed  themselves  of  such  an 
opportunity  as  he  describes.  No.  Krushevats, 
facing  greater  horror  than  did  Sodom,  was  like 
that  gay  ancient  city,  devoid  of  any  redeeming 
inhabitant,  and  the  spectacle  was  so  gripping, 
unusual,  strange,  and  picturesque,  such  good 
copy,  in  fact,  that  Mr.  Gordon- Smith  presents 
it  with  evident  gusto  to  the  English-reading 
world. 

After  describing  a  similar  condition  at  Chichi- 
vats,  he  says: 


90         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

When  we  reached  Krushevats  we  found  the  town  ap- 
parently in  high  festival.  Everybody  seemed  in  the  best 
of  humor  and  gaiety  reigned  everywhere. 

We  soon  discovered  the  cause.  The  whole  town,  men, 
women,  and  children,  had  been  drinking  unlimited  quan- 
tities of  French  champagne,  a  trainful  of  which  was  lying 
in  the  station. 

Good  God!  When  I  reached  Krushevats  late 
in  the  afternoon  I  found  the  town  apparently  an 
unrelieved  hell.  We  came  in  between  two  trains 
of  at  least  fifty  cars  each.  They  were  open  cars, 
loaded  with  coal  and  boxes  and — other  things.  As 
numerous  as  the  stars,  wounded  and  dead  men  lay 
on  the  coal-heaps  or  sprawled  over  the  boxes.  They 
had  not  been  there  for  an  hour  or  two  hours;  you 
could  see  that.  They  had  been  there  for  days  and 
days.  It  was  pouring  rain  when  I  came  in,  and 
had  been  for  two  weeks.  Most  of  them  looked  like 
heaps  of  bloody  old  clothes  that  had  been  picked  out 
of  a  gutter,  and  their  only  sign  of  life  was  crying  for 
food,  except  now  and  then  one  "off  his  head"  would 
rave  and  screech.  Everybody  seemed  dead,  insane, 
or  in  torment,  and  hell  reigned  everywhere. 

We  had  been  kept  waiting  near  Krushevats  for 
seven  days  before  our  train  could  be  brought  in. 
"We  soon  discovered  the  cause."  The  whole  yard 
was  crammed  with  just  such  trains  as  the  two  be- 


We  arrived  at  the  Colonel's  headquarters  wet,  cold,  and  very 

hungry 


Refugee  family  from  the  frontier  driving  all  their  possessions  through 
a  street  in  Valjevo 


EVACUATION  SCENES  93 

tween  which  we  were.  The  whole  town  was  filled 
with  wounded  and  refugees.  "Men,  women,  and 
children  had  been  drinking  unlimited  quantities  of" 
the  bitterest  agony  human  beings  could  know,  and 
trainfuls  more  of  them,  half -naked  and  soaked, 
were  dying  in  the  station. 

When  our  train  stopped  opposite  one  of  those 
coal-cars,  I  saw  a  man  who  had  been  lying  humped 
in  a  ball  bestir  himself.  I  thought  he  was  a  very 
old  man.  I  was  doubly  sorry  for  old  men  in  those 
circumstances.  His  body  was  worn,  his  movements 
were  listless,  his  profile  was  tortured  and  lined. 
All  his  companions  on  the  car  were  inert.  I  could 
not  tell  if  they  were  dead.  It  seemed  queer  that 
this  old  soldier  should  be  the  only  one  inclined  to 
stir.  Then  he  turned  his  full  face  toward  me.  He 
was  not  old  at  all;  twenty  five  at  the  most;  he  was 
simply  done  for.  He  poked  a  man  who  lay  near. 
"Voda!  voda!"  he  said  huskily  ("Water!  water!"). 
The  other  sat  up,  and  together  they  started  to 
crawl  off  the  truck.  I  shouted  at  them  that  I 
would  bring  some  "voda";  they  paid  no  heed,  not 
understanding.  The  old  young  man  got  to  the 
ground,  going  through  strange  contortions.  His 
companion  wavered  on  the  edge  a  moment,  then 
fell  heavily  and  rolled  under  the  truck,  either  sense- 


94         WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

less  or  dead.  The  other  looked  at  him,  started  to 
bend  over,  then  jerked  up  again  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  pain.  There  was  something  the  matter  with 
his  chest.  A  dirty  old  shirt  was  tied  around  him  in 
lieu  of  a  bandage.  Even  as  he  cried  the  stained 
shirt  became  a  warm  red.  He  tried  to  climb  be- 
tween the  trucks  of  our  train  to  get  to  the  station 
pump,  I  suppose.  He  got  half-way,  but  fell  back 
just  as  we  came  to  him.  Before  the  nurses  could 
save  him  he  bled  to  death.  The  man  under  the 
train  was  dead.  They  were  not  alone.  We  just 
happened  to  see  this.  I  was  told  that  men  went 
carefully  before  the  trains  coming  into  Krushevats 
at  night  to  be  sure  the  tracks  were  not  littered. 
Unpleasant  things  had  happened  several  times. 
"We  found  the  town  apparently  in  high  festival. 
Everybody  seemed  in  the  best  of  humor  and  gaiety 
reigned  everywhere."  Potent  champagne  that 
from  the  sunny  vineyards  of  glorious  France !  Po- 
tent champagne  which  so  could  dilute  the  black 
Teutonic  brew  I  saw  Krushevats  swallow! 

I  do  not  say  that  Mr.  Gordon  Gordon- Smith  did 
not  see  Krushevats  as  he  says  he  did.  I  was  not 
there;  he  came  three  days  after  me.  I  do  say 
that  there  is  nothing  at  all  to  make  me  think  his 


EVACUATION  SCENES  95 

words  are  true,  and  what  I  have  just  described  to 
make  me  think  they  are  a  damnable  lie. 

If  exaggeration  is  used  to  make  more  readable 
a  dry  account  of  a  pink  tea  or  to  tell  more  touch- 
ingly  how  somebody's  mother  slipped  on  a  banana- 
peel,  I  do  not  quarrel  with  it.  If  for  the  sake  of  a 
striking  paragraph,  it  is  used  cynically  to  vilify  a 
heroic  people  at  the  moment  of  their  crucifixion, 
nothing  gives  me  more  satisfaction  than  to  go  far 
out  of  my  way  to  brand  it  as  stupid,  cowardly,  dis- 
honest, and  contemptible. 


CHAPTER  IV 

GETTING  AWAY 

ON  the  nineteenth  of  October  I  left  Valjevo 
with  the  "Christitch  Mission."  This  mis- 
sion had  been  founded  early  the  preceding  spring  by 
Mile.  Anna  Christitch  of  London,  a  member  of 
the  London  "Daily  Express"  staff.  Mile.  Chris- 
titch had  come  out  to  Valjevo  in  February,  1915, 
when  the  typhus  epidemic,  which  began  at  Valjevo, 
was  at  its  height.  The  misery  of  the  refugees,  the 
filthy  cafes,  the  poor  hospitals  insufferably  crowded 
with  dying  men,  and  the  gruesome  piles  of  un- 
buried  dead  that  increased  too  rapidly  for  inter- 
ment, had  made  such  an  impression  upon  her  that 
she  returned  to  London  and  persuaded  her  paper 
to  start  a  fund  for  the  relief  of  the  beautiful, 
but  stricken,  little  city.  Through  the  strong  ap- 
peal of  the  cause  itself  and  her  own  unusual  talent 
as  a  lecturer  and  writer,  a  large  sum  was  raised  at 
once,  and  the  "Daily  Express  Camp"  was  estab- 
lished at  Valjevo. 

Before   the   somewhat   sudden   advent   of   the 

96 


GETTING  AWAY  97 

writer,  this  mission  had  differed  from  others  in 
Serbia  in  that  no  mere  man  had  any  part  in  it. 
Eleven  days  before  evacuation  I  descended  upon 
it  in  a  Ford,  the  tonneau  of  which  had  been  fash- 
ioned, according  to  my  own  ideas  of  coach-build- 
ing, from  the  packing-case  that  had  brought  it 
from  far-away  Detroit.  The  work  with  which  I 
had  been  connected  having  been  completed,  I 
humbly  petitioned  Mme.  Christitch,  the  mother  of 
Mile.  Christitch,  to  take  on  one  man  at  least, 
accompanied  by  an  automobile.  I  imagine  that 
the  car,  despite  the  tonneau  I  had  made,  won  the 
victory,  for  I  became  an  integral  part  of  the  mis- 
sion, being  in  some  hazy  way  connected  with  the 
storehouse  of  refugee  supplies.  An  Austrian 
prisoner,  named  Franz,  a  Vienna  cook,  whom 
Mme.  Christitch  requisitioned  for  the  mission 
household,  followed  me  in  breaking  the  decree 
against  males.  Besides  Mme.  and  Mile.  Chris- 
titch, the  mission  had  four  nurses,  Miss  Magnussen 
of  Christiania,  Norway,  and  the  Misses  Helsby, 
Spooner,  and  Bunyan  of  London. 

During  the  second  week  of  October  the  mili- 
tary authorities  three  times  warned  Mile.  Chris- 
titch that  Valjevo  was  seriously  threatened  and 
advised  her  to  take  the  mission  farther  south. 


98       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

With  many  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  relief -sup- 
plies in  her  storehouse,  and  with  a  great  need  for 
nurses  in  the  hospitals,  now  overflowing  with 
wounded,  Mile.  Christitch  would  not  heed  these 
warnings,  her  course  being  heartily  approved  by 
the  rest  of  us.  Also  she  was  prone  to  put  down 
all  such  advice  from  the  military  authorities  as  due 
to  over-solicitude  on  the  part  of  Field-Marshal 
Mishich,  who  had  known  her  from  childhood. 
Even  when  the  other  mission,  the  "Scottish 
Women,"  was  ordered  to  go,  she  made  a  dash  for 
headquarters  and  came  back  triumphant,  announc- 
ing that  we  could  stay  so  long  as  the  Field-Marshal 
himself  remained. 

But  on  Sunday  morning,  October  17,  an  ulti- 
matum came,  and  I  was  enjoined  to  see  to  the 
packing  of  some  thirty-five  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  blankets,  clothing,  shoes,  hospital-supplies,  and 
food-stuffs  within  forty-eight  hours.  Much  of  this 
material  Mile.  Christitch  succeeded  in  distributing 
among  soldiers  just  leaving  for  the  front,  but  it 
required  eighty-five  ox-carts  to  transport  the  re- 
mainder to  the  station,  where  I  saw  it  loaded  on 
six  large  railway-trucks,  the  guardian  of  which  I 
thenceforth  became. 

Our  plan  at  the  moment  was  simple.     We  were 


GETTING  AWAY  99 

to  follow  the  orders  of  the  military  medical  chief, 
and  he  had  ordered  us  to  Yagodina  on  the  main 
line  of  the  railway.  This  meant  that  at  Mladen- 
ovats,  twenty  kilometers  from  which  fierce  fight- 
ing was  going  on,  all  our  material  would  have  to 
be  shifted  from  the  narrow-gage  to  the  broad-gage 
cars,  involving  a  loss  of  valuable  time.  But  this 
material  had  been  bought  with  public  money, 
and  Mile.  Christitch  was  not  the  kind  to  abandon 
it  lightly.  This  motive  governed  her  actions 
throughout  the  time  I  was  with  her,  and  finally 
resulted  in  the  capture  of  her  mother  and  herself. 

It  was  late  Tuesday  afternoon  when  the  eight 
of  us,  the  four  nurses,  the  Christitches,  Franz  and 
I  splashed  down  to  the  depot  through  knee-deep 
mud  under  a  heavy  downpour.  Our  train  was  to 
leave  at  seven,  but  it  did  not  go  until  nearly  mid- 
night. In  the  meantime  we  had  the  honor  of  mak- 
ing the  very  interesting  acquaintance  of  the  "Little 
Sergeant,"  the  youngest  officer,  as  well  as  the 
youngest  soldier,  in  the  Serbian  army. 

He  is — or,  now,  perhaps  was — a  real  sergeant. 
On  his  diminutive  soldier's  coat  he  wore  three  gold 
stars,  and  in  lieu  of  a  sword  he  carried  an  Austrian 
bayonet,  and  in  lieu  of  a  rifle  a  Russian  cavalry 
carbine.  A  full-sized,  well-filled  cartridge-belt 


100     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

was  slung  over  his  shoulders,  because  it  would 
easily  have  encircled  his  baby  waist  three  times. 
He  was  ten  years  old,  and  had  been  in  the  service 
for  "a  long  time."  He  had  asked  and  obtained  a 
leave  to  go  home  just  before  all  the  trouble  began, 
and  now  he  was  answering  the  hurried  summons 
sent  out  to  all  soldiers  on  leave  to  return  to  their 
regiments  at  once.  His  home  was  three  days'  walk 
from  Valjevo,  the  nearest  railway  point,  and  he 
had  walked  the  whole  way  alone ;  but  he  was  late, 
and  was  afraid  of  exceeding  the  time  allowed  for 
soldiers  to  return.  He  said  if  he  reached  his  sta- 
tion too  late,  he  "would  be  shot  as  a  deserter,  and 
rightly  so."  Then  his  regiment  "would  be  dis- 
graced." He  had  no  money,  but  did  not  need  any. 
At  the  military  stations  he  demanded  his  loaf  of 
bread  as  a  Serbske  vrenik,  and  got  it.  As  for 
sleeping,  well,  any  cafe-owner  would  not  refuse  a 
Serbian  soldier  the  hospitality  of  his  floor. 

Our  train  showed  no  signs  of  departing,  so  we 
took  him  into  the  town  and  gave  him  dinner  at  the 
hotel.  He  ate  tremendously,  but  seriously,  pre- 
occupied, as  a  man  would  have  been,  and  at  times 
discussing  military  affairs.  Despite  all  his  efforts, 
we  detected  a  slight  limp,  and  found  his  small  feet 
in  a  frightful  condition.  His  opanki  had  not 


'A  man  does  not  die  a  hundred  times,"  said  the  Little  Sergeant 


Mme.  Christitch  distributing  relief  supplies  at  Valjevo 


GETTING  AWA¥  103 

fitted  well  and  were  nearly  worn  out.  Blisters  and 
stone-bruises  were  in  great  evidence.  To  his 
boundless,  but  unexpressed,  delight,  we  were  able 
to  give  him  a  new  pair. 

Every  one  plied  him  with  questions,  which  he 
answered  slowly,  taking  great  care  as  to  his  words. 
Whom  had  he  left  at  home?  Why,  his  mother  and 
little  sister,  who  was  five  years  older  than  himself. 
His  father  and  brother  were  in  the  army.  When 
he  went  home  on  leave  he  was  able  to  cut  wood  and 
bring  water,  see  to  the  prune-trees  and  feed  the 
pigs ;  but  most  of  the  time  the  women  had  to  do  this, 
which  was  very  bad.  But  what  could  one  do? 
His  country  was  at  war,  and  that  meant  that  men 
must  fight.  Soon,  though,  when  his  own  regiment, 
with  which  none  other  could  compare,  had  admin- 
istered a  much-needed  thrashing  to  the  Suabas,  he 
would  return  home  and  help  build  up  the  farm. 
Yes,  his  father  was  a  soldier  of  the  line  in  his  regi- 
ment, the  bravest  man  in  the  regiment.  He  him- 
self had  shot  well,  and  had  been  cautious  in  the 
trenches,  and  so  had  been  promoted  above  his 
father,  who  now,  according  to  military  discipline, 
had  to  salute  his  son.  But  he  never  allowed  this; 
he  always  forestalled  his  father,  and  at  the  same 
time  conserved  discipline  by  seizing  the  hand  that 


104    %rtir  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 


would  have  saluted  and  kissing  it.  His  regiment 
was  somewhere  near  Semendria,  but  exactly  where 
he  did  not  care  to  say,  because  there  were  spies  all 
about  —  this  with  a  wary  glance  at  me. 

As  we  waited  in  the  smoky  little  station,  crowded 
with  refugees,  he  stood  as  straight  as  an  arrow 
before  the  seated  ladies,  refusing  a  seat.  He  was 
a  Serbske  vrenik  with  a  party  of  civilians  who  had 
been  kind  to  him,  and  while  men  of  that  party  had 
to  stand,  he  would  not  sit.  Blisters  and  bruises 
might  go  whence  they  came,  to  the  devil.  But  as 
it  grew  late,  an  enemy  he  could  not  conquer  at- 
tacked him.  He  had  risen  at  four  that  morning, 
and  it  was  now  ten  at  night.  With  the  tactfulness 
born  of  long  years  of  diplomatic  life  in  European 
capitals,  Mme.  Christitch  quietly  made  room  on  the 
bench  beside  her,  which  a  moment  later  the  "Little 
Sergeant"  unconsciously  filled.  Almost  at  once 
his  head  sank  to  her  lap,  his  hands  sought  hers,  and 
a  last,  convincing,  incontestable  proof  that  he  was 
a  real  Serbske  vrenik  was  given:  a  snore,  loud, 
resonant,  manly,  broke  on  the  watching  crowd. 

Two  hours  later,  when  our  train  whistled,  I  gath- 
ered up  a  sergeant  of  the  Serbian  army,  carbine, 
ammunition,  sword,  knapsack,  and  all,  and  carried 
him  without  resistance  to  the  freight-truck  in  which 


GETTING  AWA¥  105 

we  were  to  travel,  and  laid  him,  covered  with  my 
blankets,  on  a  soft  bale  of  clothing.  I  hope  that 
if  ever  in  the  distant  future  I  shall  so  hold  a  boy 
more  closely  akin  to  me,  I  can  be  as  proud  of  my 
burden  as  I  was  that  night.  Shortly  before  our 
ways  parted  next  day  we  asked  him  if  he  was  not 
afraid  to  go  back  to  the  trenches. 

"A  man  does  not  die  a  hundred  times,"  he  replied 
quietly. 

I  almost  find  myself  hoping  that  in  the  horrible 
carnage  which  occurred  at  Semendria  a  few  days 
later  a  bullet  found  the  "Little  Sergeant"  after 
some  momentary  victory,  some  gallant  charge  of 
his  beloved  regiment.  Life  had  been  so  simple  for 
him!  His  country  was  at  war;  she  could  not  be 
wrong;  all  true  men  must  fight.  And  he  had 
known  her  only  in  glorious  victory. 

"Sbogum,  Americanske  braat"  ("Good-by, 
American  brother"),  he  murmured  when  we  sep- 
arated. 

We  began  that  night  a  mode  of  living  which  for 
fifteen  days  we  pursued  almost  uninterruptedly. 
For  this  length  of  time  we  lived,  moved,  and  had 
our  very  excited  beings  in  a  railway  freight- truck. 
We  cooked  there,  dined  there,  and  slept  on  piles 
of  soft  bales.  We  took  our  recreation  mainly  by 


106     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

making  wild  dashes  to  the  station  pumps  for  a 
drink  or  a  "wash"  between  stops,  or  by  counting 
the  hundreds  of  refugees  that  piled  in,  hung  on,  and 
crowded  around  every  train  on  every  siding. 
After  a  trying  delay  at  Mladenovats,  during 
which  the  battle-line  came  appreciably  nearer,  we 
got  on  the  main  line,  and  succeeded  in  procuring 
enough  trucks  to  leave  one  virtually  empty  for 
general  uses  and  a  sleeping-apartment  for  the 
ladies,  while  another,  nearly  full,  afforded  space  for 
me,  Franz,  and  Tichomir,  a  young  soldier  whom  we 
had  decided  to  take  with  us. 

Franz  and  Tichomir  were  about  the  same  age, 
and  the  fact  that  Tichomir's  father,  more  than 
sixty  five  and  not  a  soldier,  had  been  taken  from 
his  home  into  Austria  as  a  "hostage,"  and  had  there 
died  from  exposure,  did  not  keep  the  two  boys  from 
becoming  boon  companions.  They  used  to  sit 
about  by  the  hour,  smoking  my  cigarettes  and  guy- 
ing each  other  in  a  terrific  jargon  of  German  and 
Serbian.  Tichomir  was  a  fine  sample  of  the  young 
Serb,  with  a  face  that  would  have  made  most  Euro- 
pean princes  look  like  farm-laborers,  and  which 
made  it  quite  impossible  to  fall  out  of  humor  with 
him,  although  his  aversion  to  anything  savoring  of 
work  made  it  impossible  to  keep  in  humor  with  him, 


GETTING  AWAY  107 

a  trying  combination!  Franz,  on  the  other  hand, 
looked  like  the  stupid,  well-meaning  cherub  that  he 
was.  He  had  a  voice  like  a  German  lullaby,  with 
which  he  was  always  assuring  "Gnadige  Frau 
Christitch"  that  the  Magyars  were  the  "Sehre 
schlectest  Menschen  am  Welt''  while  privately  he 
confided  to  me  that  he  wanted  only  one  thing  on 
earth,  which,  put  crudely,  was  to  thumb  his  nose 
at  the  illustrious  Emperor  whose  name  he  bore,  and 
with  the  wife  he  had  left  behind  in  Austria  to  go 
to  America  for  a  new  start.  He  did  America  the 
honor  of  thinking  it  the  only  country  left  worth 
living  in,  and  altogether  ingratiated  himself  into 
my  affections  to  an  alarming  extent.  Incidentally 
he  ably  upheld  the  best  traditions  of  Vienna  cook- 
ery, and  had  about  as  much  business  in  a  battle- 
line  as  one  of  Titian's  little  angels  would  have  in 
Tammany  Hall.  All  in  all,  they  were  a  horribly 
lazy,  highly  diverting  pair.  Very  probably  Tich- 
omir  has  been  killed,  and  Franz  has  starved  to 
death. 

We  were  not  allowed  to  stay  at  Yagodina,  but 
were  ordered  to  Chupriya  until  further  notice. 
Here  several  diverting  things  occurred,  not  least 
among  them  being  that  we  slept  in  beds  once  more, 
the  municipal  hospital  having  opened  its  doors  to 


108     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

us.  Sleeping  in  that  hard  hospital  bed  has  since 
become  an  event  to  me.  I  slept  in  it  for  the  last 
time  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  October,  and  with  the 
exception  of  two  nights  a  few  days  later,  the  next 
time  that  I  slept  in  anything  that  even  looked  like 
a  bed  was  on  the  nineteenth  of  December  in  Rome. 
The  catalogue  of  my  resting-places  during  this 
period  comprises  hill-tops,  pastures,  drink-shop 
floors,  flooded  corn-fields,  snow-covered  river- 
banks,  hay-lofts,  harems,  Montenegrin  and  Al- 
banian huts,  Turkish  cemeteries,  the  seasick  deck 
of  a  seasick  ship,  pursued  by  five  submarines,  and 
the  floor  of  a  wagon-lit. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  we  arrived  at 
Chupriya,  Mile.  Christitch  and  I  were  at  the  depot 
seeing  to  the  shunting  of  our  trucks,  for  permission 
had  been  granted  to  leave  our  material  on  them  for 
a  few  days  until  we  could  decide  what  to  do.  The 
station  itself,  the  yard  about  it,  and  the  tracks  were 
covered  with  thousands  of  homeless  women  and 
children.  We  were  standing  perhaps  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  station  building,  talking,  when  we 
noticed  people  looking  up,  and  detected  the  unmis- 
takable hum  of  an  aeroplane.  It  came  out  of  the 
east,  a  tiny  golden  speck  that  caught  the  setting 
sun's  rays  and  gleamed  against  the  sky  at  an  alti- 


GETTING  AWAY  109 

tude  of  perhaps  three  thousand  feet.  But  it  was 
coming  lower,  as  we  could  plainly  see  and  hear. 
Many  of  the  refugees  were  from  Belgrade  and 
Kragujevats,  both  of  which  had  suffered  severely 
from  aeroplanes.  These  refugees  immediately 
became  panic-stricken,  the  women  weeping,  the 
children  screaming.  At  such  an  altitude,  when  an 
aeroplane  gets  anywhere  nearly  straight  overhead, 
it  appears  to  be  directly  so,  and  you  can  no  more 
run  out  from  under  it  than  you  can  get  out  from 
under  a  star.  One  can  only  stand  and  wait,  grin- 
ning or  glum,  according  to  temperament  and  pre- 
sentment. 

The  men  in  the  machine,  which  was  Austrian, 
could  now  be  seen  as  tiny  specks,  and  they  ap- 
peared to  be  directly  over  us.  We  knew,  of  course, 
that  they  were  aiming  at  the  station,  but  that  did 
not  help  the  incontestable  evidence  of  our  eyes  that 
they  were  straight  over  our  heads,  and  bomb- 
droppers  are  not  adept  at  throwing  curves.  It  was 
our  first  raid.  We  saw  the  thing  hang  almost 
motionless  for  what  seemed  many  minutes  as  it 
turned  more  to  the  south,  and  watching  intently, 
we  saw  nothing,  but  heard  a  sharp  whiz  as  of  a  cane 
whirled  swiftly  through  the  air,  and  then  a  deafen- 
ing report  came  that  stunned  us  a  little.  At  the 


110     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

same  time  anti-air-craft  guns  began  their  fusillades. 
When  the  dust  and  smoke  lifted,  there  were  hun- 
dreds of  women  and  children  trembling  with  fear, 
and  less  than  fifty  feet  from  us  what  had  been  a 
little  boy  of  twelve  and  an  old  soldier  barely  alive. 
Unhurt,  the  aeroplane  sailed  away  into  the  sunset. 

After  four  days  at  Chupriya,  orders  came  to 
proceed  to  Krushevats,  there  to  shift  once  more  to 
the  narrow-gage  and  go  to  Kraljevo,  which  had 
become  the  temporary  abode  of  the  Government. 
Ordinarily  this  journey  would  require  four  or  five 
hours.  Ten  days  later  we  left  the  railway  at  Tres- 
tenik,  a  station  not  far  from  Kraljevo,  having  never 
come  to  our  destination  at  all.  So  great  was  the 
congestion  in  the  railway-yard  at  Krushevats  that 
for  seven  days  we  waited  on  a  siding  three  miles 
outside  the  place  before  our  train  could  be  brought 
in.  This  siding  led  to  one  of  the  largest  powder 
factories  in  Serbia,  and  our  train  stood  very  near 
it.  Every  day  hostile  aeroplanes  came  over,  hov- 
ering like  tiny  flies  far  above  the  factory,  which 
was  going  at  full  blast.  But  at  the  four  corners 
of  the  place  anti-air-craft  guns  poked  their  ugly 
muzzles  skyward,  and  the  Austrian  aviators  dared 
not  come  low  enough  to  drop  bombs. 

The  highway  ran  past  our  car-door,  giving  us 


If 


GETTING  AWAY  113 

endless  glimpses  into  the  life  of  the  fleeing  popula- 
tion, each  a  little  drama  in  itself.  One  day  six 
limousines  came  by,  filled  with  men  in  silk  hats  and 
frock-coats.  It  was  the  cabinet  fleeing  from  the 
Bulgarians  before  Nish.  I  saw  Pashich,  the  great- 
est of  Balkan  statesmen,  looking  rather  wearily, 
I  thought,  out  of  the  window,  old,  worn,  worried. 
These  were  the  men  who  had  had  to  face  Austria's 
ultimatum,  and  who  were  now  just  beginning  to 
face  the  consequences  of  their  refusal  to  surrender 
the  liberty  of  their  nation. 

After  we  had  finally  been  taken  into  Krushevats, 
Mile.  Christitch  and  I  were  walking  down  the 
tracks  into  the  town  one  day  when  we  saw  a  new 
eight-cylinder  American  touring-car.  In  it  we 
recognized  Admiral  Troubridge  and  Major  Ell- 
iott, the  British  military  attache.  They  had  just 
missed  the  train  which  was  to  take  them  on  to 
Kraljevo  and  intended  going  on  in  an  automobile. 
As  we  were  talking,  however,  word  came  that  the 
road  was  almost  impassable,  and  the  Serbian 
officer  in  attendance  went  to  secure  a  special  train 
for  them.  I  remember  my  wonder  that  in  such  a 
bedlam  of  congestion  a  special  train  was  still  pos- 
sible. They  got  out,  and  we  walked  up  the  tracks 
together.  I  had  met  Admiral  Troubridge  before. 


114     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

He  is  a  perfect  picture  of  an  admiral.  His  typi- 
ically  British  face,  ruddy  complexion,  and  snow- 
white  hair,  combined  with  a  certain  easy-going, 
almost  lackadaisical  air,  make  him  just  like  an 
admiral  on  the  stage.  Mme.  Christitch  had  given 
me  a  highly  interesting  account  of  a  conversation 
which  she,  her  daughter,  and  the  nurses  had  had 
with  him  at  Chupriya,  but  which  I  did  not  hear. 

The  Admiral,  then  fresh  from  the  bombardment 
of  Belgrade,  had  assured  them  that  the  Serbs  were 
making  no  resistance  "worth  speaking  of."  They 
were  abandoning  everything,  he  said,  and  were 
suing  for  peace,  which,  he  assured  the  ladies,  would 
be  concluded  within  fifteen  days.  He  said  that  the 
firing  we  heard  was  a  mere  pretense,  that  no  serious 
fighting  was  going  on  since  the  fall  of  Belgrade. 
He  did  not  tell  whence  came  the  thousands  of 
wounded  and  dying  which  we  had  seen  in  Valjevo 
and  right  there  in  Krushevats,  and  which  we  were 
soon  to  hear  about  from  the  nurses  at  Kragujevats. 
These  thousands  excluded  all  those  from  the  Bul- 
garian battle-line,  about  which,  so  far  as  I  know, 
the  Admiral  did  not  express  himself,  and  excluded 
the  unparalleled  (for  the  number  engaged) 
slaughter  that  occurred  at  Zajechar  and  Pirot. 
He  said  that  this  peace,  which  was  to  come 


GETTING  AWAY  115 

in  fifteen  days,  was  the  only  thing  left  to  Serbia; 
he  expressed  it  as  his  opinion,  in  very  much 
the  same  words  that  I  use  here,  that  the  diplomacy 
of  England  had  been  so  stupid,  so  ignorant,  so 
criminally  careless  that  the  Serbs  would  be  justified 
in  making  a  separate  peace  as  a  "slap  in  England's 
face."  He  added  that  all  the  foregoing  summer 
he  had  been  begging  his  Government  to  send  out 
reinforcements  to  him  on  the  Danube.  He  also 
told  us  that  he  understood  the  Germans  were  act- 
ing in  a  most  conciliatory  manner  toward  the  Serbs 
in  an  endeavor  to  placate  them.  The  policy  which 
they  had  followed  in  Belgium  had  not  been  fol- 
lowed in  Serbia,  he  said.  These  remarks  by  a 
British  admiral  of  wide  note,  commander-in-chief 
of  the  only  force  which  England  sent  to  Serbia 
until  the  final  attack,  seemed  to  have  impressed  the 
ladies  deeply.  Made,  as  they  were,  to  Mme. 
Christitch,  who  has  given  thirty  years  of  her  life 
to  Serbia,  and  whose  husband  is  a  well-known 
figure  in  Balkan  diplomacy,  and  to  her  daughter, 
who  since  1912  has  devoted  most  of  her  time  to 
her  native  country,  they  naturally  were  not  soon 
forgotten,  and,  I  feel  sure,  that  an  hour  after  the 
Admiral  left  I  had  a  substantially  verbatim  report 
of  them. 


116     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

Although  I  had  not  met  Colonel  Phillips  before, 
I  knew  something  of  him.  I  had  heard  of  him  as 
governor  of  Scutari  during  the  period  of  the  forma- 
tion of  Albania  as  a  kingdom,  and  as  a  man  who 
knew  the  Balkans  "like  a  book."  He  is  most 
things  the  Admiral  is  not.  He  is  tall,  with  no 
superfluous  flesh,  has  a  red  face  and  sandy  mus- 
tache. He  is  army  all  over,  whereas  the  Admiral 
is  navy  all  over,  and  could  be  at  home  only  on  a 
bridge — a  stage  bridge,  perhaps,  but  still  a  bridge. 
Before  coming  to  Serbia,  Colonel  Phillips  had 
served  for  several  months  on  General  French's 
staff  in  France.  The  Admiral  seemed  to  me 
always  ineffably  bored,  the  Colonel  always  irra- 
tionally irritated. 

Standing  on  the  railway-track,  waiting  for  his 
train,  Colonel  Phillips  talked  to  me.  If  he  thought 
about  the  matter  at  all,  he  may  have  known  in  an 
uncertain  manner  that  I  was  supposed  to  be  an 
American  who  claimed  to  have  been  engaged  in 
relief  work,  and  who  at  the  moment  was  traveling 
with  the  Christitch  Mission.  He  could  not  have 
known  more,  and  two  hostile  aeroplanes  that 
shortly  before  had  appeared  just  as  the  Crown 
Prince's  train  was  starting — the  train  which  the 
Colonel  should  have  caught — testified  an  almost 


Tichomir  and  some  of  his  relatives 


General  Putnik,  Serbia's  oldest  general  and  a  popular  hero 


GETTING  AWAY  119 

uncanny  system  of  espionage  on  the  part  of  the 
enemy.  This  seemingly  did  not  worry  Colonel 
Phillips,  and,  as  for  me,  having  the  Admiral's 
remarks  as  a  precedent,  I  was  prepared  for  any- 
thing from  a  British  officer  in  Serbia.  To  use  a 
homely  simile,  the  Colonel  reminded  me  of  nothing 
so  much  as  the  safety-valve  of  an  overcharged 
boiler  when  suddenly  released.  I  did  not  release 
it  with  skilful  questioning.  A  wooden  Indian 
could  have  interviewed  the  Colonel  that  morning. 
Already  two  weeks  of  the  tremendous  pressure  of 
the  retreat  had  blunted  my  journalistic  tendencies; 
the  Colonel  awakened  them  from  their  supine 
slumber. 

He  opened  the  conversation  with  the  brief  re- 
mark that  the  Serbian  General  Staff  were  idiots, 
a  statement  which,  considering  such  men  as  Putnik, 
Stepanovich,  and  Mishich,  might,  to  say  the  least, 
be  open  to  argument.  Like  the  Admiral,  he  said 
that  they  were  suing  for  peace,  which  would  be 
made  within  a  fortnight.  He  said  that  they  had 
"completely  lost  their  heads"  and  had  "nothing 
even  resembling  an  organized  plan  of  campaign." 
They  and  the  Serbian  army  were  running  away  as 
fast  as  possible,  according  to  him.  He  told  me 
that  "the  French  military  attache  and  myself, 


120     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

backed  by  our  respective  Governments,  have  sub- 
mitted a  plan  of  campaign  to  the  Serbian  General 
Staff,  and  so  far  they  have  refused  to  consider  it." 
Those  were  his  exact  words.  Then  apparently  to 
prove  the  fioiess  of  his  plan,  which  was  backed  by 
England  and  France,  he  proceeded  to  detail  that 
plan  to  me,  an  utter  stranger!  It  consisted  in 
brief  of  abandoning  all  of  northern  Serbia  at  once 
and  retreating  south  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  hold 
the  Orient  Railway,  an  impossibility  at  the  time 
we  talked.  I  never  saw  the  French  attache,  so 
have  no  way  of  deciding  if  what  the  Colonel  said  is 
true. 

The  Colonel  then  discussed  briefly,  much  to  my 
interest,  the  position  of  England  in  the  war.  He 
said  that  up  to  the  present  England  had  saved  her- 
self all  she  could,  and  had  attempted  to  organize 
her  forces  so  perfectly  that  in  the  spring  or  early 
summer  of  1916  she  would  be  able  to  hurl  a  vast 
army  against  the  western  German  lines  at  a  time 
when  Germany  would  be  beginning  to  show  ex- 
haustion. 

With  scarcely  a  break  in  his  speech,  the  Colonel 
turned  his  attention  to  the  King  of  Montenegro, 
whom  he  taxed  with  certainly  having  a  secret  un- 
derstanding with  Austria.  He  characterized  his 


GETTING  AWAY  121 

Montenegrin  majesty  as  a  "knave  and  a  rascal," 
and  told  me  that  he,  Colonel  Phillips,  did  not  dare 
to  go  into  Montenegro  now  for  fear  of  his  life  be- 
cause in  past  years  he  had  so  infuriated  the  King. 

At  this  point  it  occurred  to  him  to  ask  what  I 
had  been  doing,  and  when  I  replied  with  a  brief 
account  of  relief-work  among  the  refugees  of  Bos- 
nia, he  made  some  observations  on  such  work.  He 
accused  both  his  own  countrymen  and  the  Serbians 
with  gross  dishonesty  in  the  administration  of 
charitable  funds,  and,  as  for  my  refugees,  they 
were  n't  due  to  the  war  at  all,  but  had  infested  the 
mountains  in  that  same  state  of  starvation  "for  ten 
thousand  years  more  or  less." 

Then,  and  then  only,  was  I  guilty  of  my  first 
question.  I  mentioned  something  about  the  United 
States.  With  the  courtesy  and  kindness  which  he 
had  shown  to  me  throughout,  he  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused from  "discussing  your  country,  as  I  would 
certainly  hurt  your  feelings."  Now,  would  not 
this  make  any  normal  American  curious?  I 
pressed  the  subject,  saying  that  I  thought  I  could 
stand  it,  as  I  was  far  away  from  home  and  might 
never  see  the  old  place  again,  anyway.  I  do  not 
pretend  to  have  understood  his  position  in  regard 
to  America.  The  one  concrete  thing  I  could  get 


122     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

at  was  that  we  were  a  nation  of  conscienceless  dol- 
lar-snatchers,  who  refused  to  fight  because  it  cost 
money,  "in  spite  of  the  infinite  debt  of  gratitude" 
we  owed  to  England.  Instead  of  helping  her,  he 
said,  we  were  deliberately  taught  to  hate  her.  He 
said  he  knew  the  United  States  "like  a  book,"  had 
traveled  extensively  North  and  South,  and  had 
found  that  in  our  schools  we  systematically  "taught 
our  children  to  hate  England."  I  murmured  I 
was  Southern.  He  said  that  in  the  South  we  hated 
Englishmen  as  we  did  "niggers."  I  did  not  say 
yes  and  I  did  not  say  no  to  this.  I  remarked  that 
there  "were  'niggers'  and  'niggers,'  "  and  so,  doubt- 
less, when  I  had  met  more  Englishmen,  I  should 
find  they  were  not  all  the  same  sort. 

Then,  at  the  risk  of  displaying  crass  ignorance, 
I  asked  what  our  debt  of  gratitude  to  England 
might  be.  He  thought  a  moment  very  studiously, 
and  then  remarked  that  we  spoke  the  same  lan- 
guage. I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  that  came 
to  me.  "On  the  level,"  I  asked,  "what  are  you 
handing  me?"  But  I  had  to  translate  for  him. 

Next,  with  fear  and  trembling,  remembering  his 
position  as  a  member  of  General  French's  staff,  I 
turned  the  steam  on  France.  I  received  only  two 
statements,  and  these  were  exceedingly  enigmatic. 


GETTING  AWAY  123 

In  their  proper  order  they  are,  "France,  like  your 
own  country,  has  thought  only  of  money  in  this 
war,"  and,  "As  regards  men,  France  is  now  ex- 
hausted." Let  him  who  wishes  to  rush  in,  attempt 
a  reconciliation  of  these  two  statements.  Colonel 
Phillips  made  them;  I  report  them  here. 

The  Colonel  confided  to  me  that  he  and  Admiral 
Troubridge  "had  been  cruelly  punished  by  being 
sent  to  Serbia"  because  they  had  too  emphatically 
and  openly  criticized  England's  policy  at  the 
Dardanelles. 

By  this  time  the  Colonel  seemed  a  bit  relieved, 
and  boyishly  told  me  of  a  lovely  little  prank  of  his. 
As  matters  of  taste  can  never  be  argued,  I  shall 
leave  each  reader  to  form  his  own  opinion  without 
any  admonition  from  me.  The  Colonel  said  that 
at  last,  when  he  was  forced  to  leave  Belgrade,  just 
before  the  Germans  were  due  to  reach  the  house 
where  he  lived,  he  prepared  a  little  welcome  for 
them  in  his  sitting-room.  At  the  grand  piano, 
which  he  had  procured  from  some  ruined  home  pre- 
viously, he  seated  a  skeleton,  with  grinning  skull 
turned  toward  the  door  and  the  fleshless  hands  lying 
on  the  keys.  He  had  draped  the  skeleton  in  a  Ger- 
man uniform  and  had  placed  upon  its  head  a  Ger- 
man helmet. 


124     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

When  at  last  the  special  train  which  the  Serbian 
Government  had  produced  on  thirty  minutes'  no- 
tice appeared  to  bear  him  away,  the  Colonel  cor- 
dially shook  my  hand,  saying  he  had  enjoyed  meet- 
ing and  talking  with  me. 

Thus  spoke  the  British  military  attache  in  Serbia, 
whose  position  entitled  him  to  the  confidence  of  the 
General  Staff  on  whom  the  fate  of  a  nation  hung, 
to  me  an  absolute  stranger,  when  the  country  he 
had  been  sent  out  to  aid  was  facing  as  awful  a  fate 
as  any  country  ever  faced,  and  was  facing  it  alone 
either  because  of  the  weakness,  stupidity,  or  treach- 
ery of  her  allies. 

I  report  these  two  interviews  because  they  were 
interesting  to  me  and  so,  I  think,  will  prove  to 
others.  I  do  not  feel  that  there  is  any  breach  of 
confidence  in  this.  The  sentiments  expressed  by 
these  two  distinguished  British  officers  were  not  ex- 
pressed in  confidence  at  all, — would  to  heaven  they 
had  been! — and,  furthermore,  were  expressed  by 
them  to  numbers  of  people  on  different  occasions. 
They  were  the  common  talk  among  the  English 
during  the  retreat.  Certainly,  I  have  little  or  no 
feeling  toward  these  gentlemen  one  way  or  the 
other.  In  trying  to  write  the  story  of  Serbia,  I 
cannot  omit  one  of  her  major  afflictions. 


GETTING  AWAY  125 

Finally,  in  the  night,  we  were  jerked  out  of 
Krushevats.  Jerked  is  the  proper  word,  for  at 
this  time  the  wide-spread  congestion  had  called  into 
service  many  locomotive  engineers  who  perhaps  had 
seen  locomotives  before,  but  were  certainly  not  on 
speaking  terms  with  the  fine  arts  of  coupling  and 
switching.  The  terrible  bumps  we  got  were  really 
dangerous,  especially  in  the  men's  car,  where  every 
tremor  threatened  to  bring  down  huge  bales  of 
philanthropic  shirts  upon  our  heads.  We  heard  of 
one  man  who  was  standing  with  his  head  stuck  out 
of  the  door  of  a  freight-truck  when  a  sudden  bump 
slammed  the  sliding-door  shut  and  decapitated  him. 
After  that  we  kept  our  heads  inside,  preferring  the 
threatening  shirts. 

At  Stalach  we  were  delayed  several  hours  for 
some  unknown  reason,  but  had  a  most  sociable  time 
receiving  in  our  "villa  box-car"  several  distin- 
guished guests;  for  Stalach  is  the  junction  of  the 
line  from  Nish  with  the  Kraljevo  line,  and  at  this 
moment  was  crowded  with  the  Serbian  haute 
monde.  That  well  known  soldier,  Captain  Petro- 
nijevich,  who  had  been  detailed  by  his  Government 
as  Sir  Ralph  Paget's  attendant,  came  to  our  menage 
filled  with  some  gleeful  secret.  He  sat  about  on 
packing-cases,  and  made  witty  remarks  with  a  dis- 


126     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

tinctly  gloating  air  that  mystified  us  until,  like  a 
magician,  he  produced  three  cans  of  pate  de  f oie 
gras.  His  triumph  did  not  last  long.  From  be- 
hind a  pile  of  baggage  I  drew  two  wonderful  roast 
ducks  that  Franz,  with  great  skill  and  loving  care 
had  done  to  a  turn  on  our  tiny  little  stove.  So  lux- 
ury ran  riot  at  Stalach. 

Sir  Ralph's  "country  place"  was  down  the  track 
about  a  hundred  yards.  Numerous  army-blankets 
and  rugs  strewn  about  gave  it  a  wild  Oriental  air 
worthy  of  Essad  Pasha,  but  Sir  Ralph  had  no 
stove.  Altogether  our  car  had  the  honors  of  the 
day. 

Just  as  we  were  leaving  Stalach  a  young  officer 
leaped  into  our  truck.  He  was  gloriously  clean, 
flashing,  magnificent.  I  am  sorry  to  have  lost  his 
name.  He  was  responsible  for  all  that  part  of  the 
railway,  a  terrific  task  at  this  time.  He  could  give 
news,  and  became  so  engrossed  with  the  ladies  that 
he  did  not  notice  the  bumps  which  told  us  we  were 
starting.  When  he  did  "come  to,"  we  were  making 
good  time  a  mile  out  of  Stalach,  and  he  had  to  be 
back  in  Stalach.  I  swung  open  the  door,  and  he, 
producing  a  pocket  flash-light,  stood  in  the  opening 
a  moment  searching  the  ground  below.  There  was 
a  continuous  ditch,  filled  to  the  brim  with  black 


5" 


I! 


I 


"o" 

i 


GETTING  AWAY  129 

water.  Only  an  instant  he  paused,  then  disap- 
peared into  the  night,  and  a  loud  splash  was  the 
last  we  ever  heard  of  him. 

That  night  our  train  was  stopped  at  Trestenik, 
for  Kraljevo  had  suddenly  become  one  of  the  most 
dangerous  spots  in  Serbia.  A  short  counsel  be- 
tween Mile.  Christitch  and  me  resulted  in  the  fol- 
lowing arrangements. 

With  her  mother,  who  could  hardly  be  exposed 
to  the  hardships  of  an  ox-cart  retreat,  she  would 
stay  at  Trestenik  for  two  days  to  distribute  among 
the  needy  soldiers  and  civilians  and  hospitals  the 
supplies  to  which  she  had  held  so  tenaciously.  The 
Government  could  give  her  two  small  ox-carts  to  go 
to  Alexandrovats,  which  lay  about  forty  kilometers 
to  the  southwest.  It  was  arranged  that  I  should 
take  these  carts,  and  transport  the  three  British 
nurses,  with  as  much  tinned  foods  and  biscuits  as 
we  could  carry.  If  at  Alexandrovats  I  found  an 
English  or  French  mission  in  retreat,  I  was  to  hand 
over  the  nurses  to  them,  and  return  to  see  of  what 
service  I  might  be  at  Trestenik.  If  there  were  no 
such  missions,  I  should  wait  three  days,  unless  the 
danger  was  pressing,  in  the  hope  that  Mile.  Chris- 
titch and  her  mother  would  come  on  and  join  us. 
If  they  did  not  come,  or  if  I  was  forced  to  go  sooner, 


130     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

I  was  to  accompany  the  nurses  until  I  found  an 
English  mission  or  until  I  could  see  Sir  Ralph 
Paget,  who  was  the  representative  of  the  British 
Serbian  Relief  and  had  been  detailed  to  look  after 
the  English  missions.  As  I  was  acquainted  with 
Sir  Ralph,  and  as  he  was  an  old  friend  of  Mile. 
Christitch,  once  I  could  get  to  him  the  safety  of 
the  English  nurses  would  be  assured,  Mile.  Chris- 
titch felt,  and  it  was  the  safety  of  her  nurses  which 
was  always  the  first  thought  with  her.  I  give  this 
arrangement  in  some  detail  because  of  later  inci- 
dents. 

In  the  dawn  of  November  4,  while  it  was  raining 
heavily,  we  said  good-by  to  the  Christitches  and 
Miss  Magnussen,  who,  being  neutral,  would  re- 
main with  them,  and  started  on  our  journey. 

In  company  with  Mile.  Christitch  I  had  gone  to 
the  commandant  of  the  place.  I  had  heard  him  ex- 
plain in  no  uncertain  terms  the  very  threatened  po- 
sition of  Trestenik.  Six  weeks  later,  when  in 
Rome,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  bringing  to  Colonel 
Christitch  the  first  authentic  news  of  his  wife  and 
daughter.  His  first  question  was  not  of  their  prob- 
able danger  under  the  invader;  it  was  simply: 

"Was  my  daughter  brave?" 

"Your  daughter  is  a  Serb,"  I  replied. 


GETTING  AWAY  131 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  and  the  expression  on  his  face 
showed  that  my  answer  needed  no  elucidation. 

The  three  women  who  were  to  endure  in  the  suc- 
ceeding tragic  weeks  so  much  physical  discomfort 
and  mental  strain,  were  true  women  of  England, 
although  one  of  them  had  spent  much  time  in 
America.  The  youngest  and  tiniest  of  them  is  a 
direct  descendant  of  the  great  creator  of  "Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  a  picture  of  whom  she  used  to  wear  con- 
tinually in  a  locket,  and  from  whose  allegory  she 
frequently  quoted  a  paragraph  apt  for  her  own 
wanderings.  Then  there  was  the  very  deft  nurse 
who  in  London  had  been  the  head  of  the  nursing 
force  of  a  hospital  and  whose  whole  life  was 
wrapped  up  in  her  blessed  profession,  as  in  fact 
was  the  case  with  all  three  of  them.  I  envied  many 
times  their  professional  attitude  toward  the  innu- 
merable sufferers  which  we  saw  later,  always  know- 
ing what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  while  I  could  only 
pity.  I  think  no  woman  ever  lived  who  was  pluck- 
ier and  more  uncomplaining  than  the  eldest  of  the 
three,  a  woman  well  past  middle-age  with  delib- 
erate, gentle  manners  and  the  deceptive  appear- 
ance of  being  too  frail  to  support  even  undue  exer- 
tion in  ordinary  routine.  To  think  what  she  went 
through  and  how  she  stood  it!  Had  I  known  on 


132     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

that  dreary  morning  leaving  Trestenik  what  lay 
before  her  I  honestly  would  not  have  believed  that 
she  would  ever  see  England  again.  When  the  fol- 
lowing days  forced  upon  me  the  realization  of  what 
we  were  in  for,  there  was  always  a  cold  dread  within 
me  of  what  I  felt  strongly  was  inevitable  for  her. 
My  solicitude  was  unnecessary.  At  Brindisi,  after 
it  was  all  over,  she  seemed  just  the  same  fragile 
being  who  tramped  out  of  Trestenik. 

From  the  very  first  each  of  them  took  the  great- 
est pride  in  tramping  well  and  "keeping  fit."  Oc- 
casional vain  wails  for  a  "wash"  were  the  extent  of 
their  complaints.  Never  a  day  passed  that  each  of 
them  did  not  come  to  me  separately  and  say,  "Is  n't 
so-and-so  walking  splendidly!  I  was  so  afraid  for 
her,  but  is  n't  she  holding  up,  though!"  There  was 
a  keen  rivalry  between  them  as  to  their  powers  of 
endurance,  and  none  of  them  would  ride — when  it 
was  possible — unless  I  made  myself  so  unpleasant 
about  it  that  they  took  pity  on  me  and  acquiesced. 
They  presupposed  in  me  a  vast  knowledge  of  the 
country  we  traversed  and  of  woodcraft  in  general, 
to  which  I  could  not  lay  the  least  claim,  but  I  took 
care  not  to  disillusion  them  any  more  than  my  mani- 
fest ignorance  made  necessary. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  came  to  know  each 


GETTING  AWAY  133 

other's  foibles  and  how  to  soothe  or  ruffle  one  an- 
other. One  of  us,  for  instance,  was,  oh,  very  ortho- 
dox, and  two  of  us  were — well,  shockingly  free  in 
our  view  as  to  the  possibility  of  miracles,  let  us 
say.  So  on  many  a  night  in  the  savage  wilderness 
high  discussions  flew  around  the  camp-fire  where  we 
lay.  We  laughed  at  each  other,  talked  at  and 
about  each  other,  and  were,  in  a  word,  for  many 
weeks  comrades  of  the  road. 

There  were  no  covers  on  the  miserable  carts,  and 
as  they  were  full  of  supplies  the  women  walked 
most  of  the  time.  We  had  been  told  that  it  was 
one  day  to  Alexandrovats,  but  hour  after  hour  we 
climbed  a  tangle  of  hills  over  mere  trails  knee-deep 
in  mud.  The  oxen  were  small  and,  when  night 
came,  were  worn  out.  Having  no  interpreter,  I, 
of  course,  could  communicate  with  my  drivers  only 
by  signs,  and  the  old  boys  were  not  particularly 
bright  at  understanding  things  they  did  not  want 
to.  Tichomir,  whom  we  had  taken  with  us,  I 
had  sent  ahead  with  letters  to  secure  accommoda- 
tions. 

When  it  grew  dark  the  drivers  insisted  on  stop- 
ping, while  I  insisted  on  pushing  on,  thinking  it 
could  not  be  much  farther  to  the  town.  Fortu- 
nately, the  rain  had  stopped,  and  the  stars  shone, 


134     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

but  the  road  grew  worse.  It  skirted  the  edge  of  a 
precipice.  There  was  no  rail,  and  the  earth  crum- 
bled away  at  the  slightest  pressure.  Soon  the 
drivers  developed  open  hostility,  holding  frequent 
whispered  conferences.  The  carts  stuck  in  mud- 
holes  often,  and  we  had  literally  to  put  our  shoul- 
ders to  the  wheel  and  help  the  weakened  oxen. 
Then  they  would  go  only  if  some  one  led  the  front 
pair.  This  the  drivers  refused  to  do,  because  it 
necessitated  wading  continually  in  slush  up  to  the 
knees.  So  the  task  devolved  upon  me. 

The  women  were  worn  out,  of  course,  and  nerv- 
ous, and  distrusted  the  drivers  intensely.  For  sev- 
eral hours  I  was  able  to  force  the  drivers  to  go  on, 
and  about  ten  o'clock,  when  we  turned  a  corner,  a 
blaze  of  light  came  to  us.  It  was  a  large  army- 
transport  camp,  and  I  thought  we  had  better  stay 
there  for  the  night. 

The  drivers  immediately  sat  down  and  refused 
to  move,  the  oxen  following  their  example.  I 
wished  the  carts  brought  out  of  the  road  to  the 
camp-ground,  and,  losing  my  temper,  started  to 
seize  the  lead-rope  of  one  of  the  oxen.  Five  min- 
utes later  I  recovered  my  breath.  I  was  lying  in 
a  mud-hole  about  fifteen  feet  from  the  ox,  and  on 
my  right  side,  along  the  ribs,  my  clothing  was  cut 


GETTING  AWAY  135 

almost  as  if  with  a  knife.  There  was  a  shallow 
gash  in  the  flesh,  and  one  hand  was  badly  cut.  I 
was  a  mass  of  evil-smelling  mud-  The  ox  had 
failed  to  get  his  horn  in  far  enough  to  do  any  real 
damage.  When  I  got  my  breath  back,  discretion 
seemed  the  best  cue  for  me,  so  I  waded  through  the 
mire  to  one  of  the  blazing  camp-fires. 

There  was  a  typical  group  about  it.  The  ox- 
drivers  of  Serbia  are  as  nondescript  and  picturesque 
a  crowd  as  can  be  found  anywhere  on  earth.  I 
knew  the  Serbian  word  for  English  woman,  and, 
pointing  to  the  road,  remarked  that  there  were 
three  English  women  who  must  pass  the  night 
somewhere,  and  I  made  it  evident  I  thought  their 
fire  was  a  pretty  good  place.  One  young  fellow 
of  about  twenty,  I  should  judge,  extremely  hand- 
some, but  in  woeful  rags  and  without  any  shoes, 
rose  at  once  despite  the  fact  that  he  had  walked  all 
day  in  the  rain  and  was  then  cooking  his  meager 
supper  as  he  dried  himself  by  the  fire.  He  smiled 
as  few  can  smile,  and,  muttering,  "English  sisters," 
came  with  me.  It  meant  that  he  would  get  wet 
again  crossing  two  bad  mud-holes,  but  he  came  to 
our  cart  and  wanted  to  carry  the  nurses  over  one  by 
one.  We  seated  ourselves  about  their  fire  and  of- 
fered them  a  tin  of  preserved  mutton.  They  had 


136     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

almost  nothing  to  eat,  and  this  was  a  rare  delicacy 
for  them,  but  we  had  to  force  them  to  take  it.  Such 
are  the  most  ignorant  of  the  Serbians. 

Our  new  protector  went  back  to  our  carts  to  give 
the  ox-drivers  some  well-needed  words,  and,  re- 
turning, ransacked  the  large  camp  for  hay  for  the 
women  to  lie  on.  He  had  been  walking  sixteen 
hours,  he  was  wet,  and  he  had  not  had  his  supper, 
yet  his  manner  was  charming  as  he  offered  this  hay, 
much  as  Lord  Chesterfield  might  have  placed  a 
chair  for  his  queen.  Strange  as  we  must  have 
seemed  to  them,  dropping  out  of  the  darkness  like 
that,  they  betrayed  not  the  slightest  trace  of  curi- 
osity, observing  always  an  impeccable  attitude  of 
careful  attention  to  our  every  want. 

There  was  one  tall,  lithe  Gipsy  among  them  who 
appeared  to  be  chief  baker.  He  had  long,  straight 
black  hair,  deep  black  eyes,  and  the  complexion  of 
a  Spaniard,  while  his  teeth  were  perfect,  and  al- 
ways in  evidence  in  the  sliest  sort  of  laugh.  He 
had  a  mellow  tenor  voice,  with  which  he  continually 
sang  songs  that  were,  I  am  sure,  very  naughty,  he 
was  so  obviously  a  good,  gay  devil.  He  was  like 
a  Howard  Pyle  pirate.  There  was  a  red  turban, 
such  as  the  people  of  the  Sanjak  wear,  around  his 
head.  His  shirt  was  of  soft  yellow  stuff,  in  tatters, 


GETTING  AWAY  137 

and  his  trousers  were  of  a  rich,  reddish-brown 
homespun.  He  had  no  shoes,  which  did  not  matter 
much,  because  his  feet  were  very  shapely. 

Before  him  he  spread  a  heavy  gunny  sack,  very 
clean,  doubled  four  times.,  and  on  this  he  poured  a 
little  mound  of  wheat-flour.  Then  from  a  brown 
earthen  jug  he  poured  some  water  on  the  flour  and 
added  a  little  lard  and  salt.  For  some  time  he 
kneaded  the  dough  on  the  gunny  sack,  and  at  last 
patted  it  into  a  round  disk  about  two  inches  thick. 
Raking  away  the  coals  from  the  center  of  the  fire, 
he  uncovered  a  space  of  baked  earth  thoroughly 
cleansed  by  the  heat  and  placed  his  cake  there,  cov- 
ering it  first  with  hot  ashes  and  then  with  live  coals. 
In  half  an  hour  he  produced  a  loaf  beautifully 
baked  and  not  at  all  unpalatable.  But  one  felt  all 
the  time  that  instead  of  baking  bread  he  should  be 
clambering  up  the  sides  of  brave  ships  and  kid- 
napping beautiful  maidens. 

This  was  our  first  night  spent  under  the  stars. 
We  all  slept  comfortably  around  the  fire,  and  next 
morning  had  a  wash  from  an  old  well  near  by,  our 
protector  bringing  us  water  in  a  jug.  He  flatly 
refused  any  gift  of  money,  and  went  away  shouting 
gaily  to  us,  unaware  that  I  had  slipped  something 
into  his  pocket.  He  was  one  of  the  "barbaric 


138       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

Serbs"  whom  political  propaganda  has  so  long  vili- 
fied. 

While  our  carts  were  being  brought  up,  one  of 
the  nurses  suddenly  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
pleasure  and  pointed  to  the  western  horizon.  We 
were  on  a  high  hill,  and  the  mountains  shouldered 
away  on  every  hand  like  an  innumerable  crowd  of 
giants.  Blue  and  gold,  gray  and  green,  they  rolled 
off  from  the  early  sun  to  the  dim  west,  where,  out 
of  crowding  mists,  a  solitary  snow-capped  peak 
stood  covered  with  a  perfect  Alpine  glow.  Being 
English  women,  the  nurses  had  always  a  keen  eye 
for  the  scenic  side  of  Serbia,  and  were  delighted 
with  this  first  snow  mountain.  But  I  shall  never 
forget  the  feeling  that  the  chilly  peak  brought  to 
me.  A  distinct  vision  came  to  me  on  that  sunny 
hillside  of  bleak  mountains  in  a  storm  through 
which  unnumbered  thousands  of  women,  old  men, 
and  children  struggled,  freezing  and  starving. 
Mile.  Christitch's  earnest  words  came  back,  "You 
will  go  through  Montenegro  to  the  sea  with  them, 
if  necessary,  will  you  not?"  Looking  at  them  now, 
I  wondered  if  it  would  not  be  a  death-sentence  for 
these  women  who  were  accustomed  only  to  a  shel- 
tered London  existence.  But  I  cast  the  vision 
away  as  hysterical,  which  seems  very  ridiculous  to 


GETTING  AWAY  139 

me  now,  for,  if  I  had  spent  the  whole  sunny  day 
dreaming  horrors,  I  still  would  not  have  begun  to 
comprehend  what  soon  was  to  be  reality. 

Not  until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  did  we 
come  to  Alexandrovats.  As  we  entered  the  town, 
a  French  aeroplane  was  trying  vainly  to  rise  from 
the  open  field  by  the  roadside,  and  a  little  farther 
on  we  saw  a  heap  of  splinters,  which  was  all  that 
was  left  of  one  that  had  fallen  the  day  before. 
When  we  got  into  the  town  we  heard  rumors  that 
Krushevats  had  fallen,  and  I  know  now  that  Tres- 
tenik  was  taken  by  a  patrol  on  the  same  day.  Iso- 
lated as  it  was,  Alexandrovats  already  was  moved 
by  a  great  wave  of  unrest. 


CHAPTER  V 

SPY  FEVER 

AS  if  to  compensate  us  for  the  loss  of  our  carts 
at  Alexandrovats,  we  made  a  valuable  acqui- 
sition to  our  personnel.  Driving  up  to  the  spot- 
less little  cottage  that  Tichomir  had  procured  for 
us  through  the  letters  he  bore,  a  very  short,  portly 
little  man,  wearing  a  bright-checked  suit  and  loud 
golf -cap,  rushed  out  to  us,  waving  a  light  yellow 
cane  and  shouting  in  English.  This  gentleman 
would  have  excited  comment  at  Coney  Island,  and 
Alexandrovats  is  not  Coney  Island.  It  is  pro- 
vincial even  for  Serbia,  yet  the  man  who  came  to 
meet  us  was  a  cosmopolite.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  of  it ;  it  fairly  oozed  from  him.  The  sound  of 
English  was  more  welcome  than  I  can  say,  for, 
while  letters  had  made  things  easy  here,  I  had  none 
for  the  future,  and  the  constantly  louder  sound  of 
cannon  during  the  last  two  days  had  made  me  ex- 
ceedingly skeptical  as  to  the  Christitches  ever  re- 
joining us. 

140 


SPY  FEVER  141 

I  will  not  give  this  gentleman's  name,  for  it 
might  possibly  cause  him  inconvenience,  and  he  cer- 
tainly did  all  in  his  power  for  us — for  himself  and 

us.  We  shall  call  him  Mr.  B .  He  is  very 

well  known  in  Belgrade,  the  head  of  a  large  firm 
there,  and  the  representative  of  some  thirty  Eng- 
lish companies  in  the  Balkans.  No  sooner  had  we 
arrived  than  he  handed  me  the  keys  of  Alexandro- 
vats,  as  it  were.  Did  I  have  an  interpreter? 
Well,  how  the  thunder  did  I  get  so  far  as  this? 
But  it  made  no  difference  now ;  I  had  met  him,  and 
he  was  absolutely  at  our  service.  All  the  officials 
of  the  town  were  his  fast  friends,  and  all  the  mer- 
chants, though  he  had  been  there  only  two  weeks. 
As  for  languages,  he  could  converse  with  me  in 
English,  French,  German,  Serbian,  Bulgarian, 
Rumanian,  and  Italian.  His  knowledge  of  the 
country  was  at  my  disposal,  and  would  I  see  the 
ladies  settled,  then  come  to  dine  with  him? 

Even  at  this  early  date  we  were  getting  tired  of 
tinned  mutton  and  sweet  biscuit,  so  the  invitation 
to  dine  I  accepted  with  alacrity,  despite  the  fact 
that  he  spoke  with  an  unmistakable  Teutonic  ac- 
cent. While  I  have  nothing  at  all  against  this  sort 
of  accent,  in  a  warring  country  where  it  is  not  par- 
ticularly popular,  and  when  one  has  others  to  con- 


142       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

sider,  it  is  just  as  well  to  steer  clear  even  of  the  ap- 
pearances of  evil. 

Mr.  B — —  was  a  wonderful  interpreter.  When 
I  sat  down  to  dine  with  him,  before  his  German 
cook,  Marie,  a  poor  girl  who  had  been  caught  in 
Serbia  by  the  war,  had  set  any  dish  before  us,  he 
apologized  for  the  quality  of  his  meal.  He  said 
that  as  Marie  had  not  known  there  would  be  a 
"ghost"  for  dinner,  she  had  made  no  extra  prepara- 
tions. Had  he  known  that  a  "ghost"  was  coming, 
he  would  have  ordered  her  to  prepare  one  of  the 
six  "kitchens"  which  he  had  been  able  to  buy  that 
afternoon,  for  by  laborious  search  he  had  discovered 
six  fat  "hands."  Seeing  my  dismay,  he  exclaimed 
testily: 

"Kitchens,  kitchens,  hands.  How  says  it? 
Feathered  files."  Then  as  light  broke  over  me,  he 
ended  triumphantly,  "Chez  moi,  Herr  Tones,  I  am 
one  good  eater !"  He  was,  indeed,  the  dinner  cer- 
tainly being  all  that  one  could  desire. 

To  find  in  Alexandrovats  at  that  time  an  excel- 
lent meal,  faultlessly  served  in  European  fashion, 

was  strange,  but  stranger  still  was  Mr.  B 's 

apartment.  A  man  who  had  shown  the  business 
astuteness  to  amass  a  considerable  fortune,  as  Mr. 
B undoubtedly  had,  and  who  has  evacuated 


SPY  FEVER  143 

Belgrade  with  nothing  but  a  small  hamper  of 
clothes  and  a  very  good  quantity  of  books,  is  un- 
usual. I  found  on  his  shelves,  in  wild  Alexandro- 
vats,  Heine,  Schiller,  Goethe,  Shakespeare,  Thack- 
eray, Dickens,  Ibsen,  Meredith,  Browning,  Samuel 
Butler,  Shaw,  Voltaire,  Bergson,  Maeterlinck, 
Maarten  Maartens,  the  brilliant  satire  of  the  last 
named  being  sprinkled  like  paprika  over  my  host's 
remarkable  conversation.  He  seemed  too  good  to 
be  true,  just  the  man  to  lead  us  out  of  Serbia.  And 
it  soon  became  obvious  that  he  wanted  to  go.  His 
story  was  simple. 

Twenty  years  ago  he  came  with  his  wife  from 
Bohemia  to  Belgrade.  He  had  no  money,  but  by 
hard  work  finally  built  up  the  firm  of  which  he  was 
the  head.  He  had  a  son  and  a  daughter,  the  son 
just  attaining  military  age  shortly  before  the  war. 
Twice  he  had  tried  to  become  a  Serbian  citizen,  but 
Serbia  had  with  Austria  a  treaty  by  which  a  citizen 
of  one  could  not  without  the  consent  of  his  country 
become  a  citizen  of  the  other.  This  consent  was 
refused  because  his  son  would  soon  be  old  enough 
to  serve  in  the  army.  Just  before  the  war  began, 
the  mother,  son,  and  daughter  paid  a  visit  to  Switz- 
erland, and  were  caught  there  by  the  beginning  of 
hostilities.  The  offending  treaty  being  abrogated, 


144       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

of  course,  as  soon  as  the  war  started,  Mr.  B 

again  tried  for  Serbian  citizenship ;  but  another  law 
was  in  the  way.  He  could  not  become  a  Serbian 
citizen  unless  his  wife  was  with  him  to  give  consent 
and  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  at  the  same  time. 
His  wife  was  in  Switzerland  on  an  Austrian  pass- 
port, and  hence  could  not  get  into  Serbia  without 
making  a  journey  full  of  risks  and  annoyances. 
His  daughter  had  died,  and  the  son  was  an  engi- 
neer in  Geneva.  Mr.  B had  been  interned 

since  the  beginning  of  the  war,  and  was  more  than 
anxious  to  meet  his  family.  He  could  not  leave 
Serbia,  yet  he  dared  not  be  captured  by  his  former 
countrymen  because  Austria  is  not  particularly 
gentle  with  her  citizens  of  Slav  extraction  who  for- 
sake the  country  of  their  birth  for  the  country  of 
their  preference.  He  saw  in  us  his  salvation.  All 
the  Serbian  authorities  knew  him  and  had  confi- 
dence in  him.  I  must  have  an  interpreter;  he 
would  be  assigned  to  me,  and  happily  we  should 
go  out  together,  only  he  would  not  leave  Marie. 
Marie  had  come  to  them  before  the  war  and  could 
not  get  back  home.  However,  a  week  previously 
he  had  laid  in  large  food  supplies,  so  that  they  would 
not  be  an  added  tax  on  our  very  insufficient  stores. 
I  quickly  decided  to  take  him  around  to  all  the 


SPY  FEVER  145 

military  authorities,  and,  if  they  seemed  to  approve 
of  him,  to  accept  his  services. 

Mr.  B proved  a  great  success  in  Alexandro- 

vats.  Everywhere  he  was  apparently  respected, 
liked,  almost  bowed  down  to.  I  began  to  feel  that 
my  position  in  the  place  was  assured  with  Mr. 

B as  sponsor.     For  two  days  we  hung  about 

the  narchelnik  stanitza  pleading  for  ox-carts  and 
bread.  This  officer,  chief  of  the  station,  is  the  go- 
between  in  Serbia  for  the  civil  and  the  military. 
To  him  the  ox-drivers  go  with  all  their  grievances 
and  to  get  their  bread.  To  him  all  who  have  claims 
on  the  Government  for  ox-carts,  shelter,  and  bread 
must  go.  All  the  relief  workers  come  in  contact 
with  him.  He  is  a  very  kind,  efficient  person,  ready 
to  do  all  in  his  power  for  a  stranger  within  his  gates. 
Of  course  one  must  have  proper  credentials,  and  be 
able  to  talk  to  him  in  some  fashion.  On  the  shoul- 
ders of  these  officers  fell  a  large  part  of  the  labor 
and  responsibility  during  the  retreat.  When  they 
left  at  all,  they  were  the  last  to  go.  Day  by  day 
they  listened  to  civilians  and  soldiers,  sick  and 
wounded,  begging  for  bread  and  shelter,  which  they 
had  not  to  give.  They  had  to  look  out  for  the 
transportation  of  food  into  their  stations  and  the 
proper  distribution  of  it  there.  When  a  loaf  of 


146       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

bread  was  selling  at  five  dollars  and  could  not  be 
found  at  that  price,  they  alone  could  give  the  little 
slip  of  paper  that  entitled  one  to  his  allowance. 
The  scenes  their  waiting-rooms  presented  can  be 
imagined. 

Famine  was  settling  on  Alexandrovats,  and  the 
Germans  were  close.  There  were  no  carts,  no 
bread,  and  as  the  Government  had  long  ago  com- 
mandeered nearly  all  the  oxen  of  the  country, 
chances  of  buying  any  sort  of  transportation  seemed 
slim,  and  all  the  more  so  as  the  whole  population 
was  beginning  to  move.  Every  hour  I  would  bring 
to  the  nurses  the  crumbs  of  comfort  the  narchelnik 
let  fall,  and  every  hour  we  were  disappointed.  At 
last  there  came  a  time  when  he  assured  us  that  we 
must  not  wait  any  longer.  We  must  find  by  pri- 
vate means  any  transportation  we  could  and  go  at 

once.  Now  Mr.  B became  a  fat  little  jewel; 

he  scintillated  with  usefulness. 

The  chief  lawyer  of  the  place,  a  typical  Serb  of 
his  class,  trained  in  Germany  and  at  his  own  uni- 
versity in  Belgrade,  calm  in  the  face  of  the  general 
confusion  of  the  community,  already  forming  a 
league  of  the  leading  citizens  to  take  all  precau- 
tionary measures  so  that  when  the  enemy  came  they 
should  find  a  population  that  gave  no  excuse  for 


SPY  FEVER  147 

wholesale  executions,  was  informed  of  my  predica- 
ment. His  whole  fortune  had  disappeared,  he 
could  not  but  be  concerned  about  his  family,  if  any- 
thing happened  in  the  community,  he  by  his  promi- 
nence would  be  one  of  the  first  to  suffer;  yet  he  de- 
voted hours  of  his  time  to  me.  A  stout,  covered 
cart  was  found  at  a  reasonable  price,  which  I  imme- 
diately paid.  To  secure  horses  was  more  difficult. 

We  went  to  another  of  Mr.  B 's  fast  friends, 

the  chief  baker,  whose  lowly  position  had  at  this 
moment  brought  him  the  popularity  of  a  prince. 
He  was  a  huge  man,  with  broad,  heavy  features  and 
small,  black  eyes  that  shifted  their  glance  con- 
stantly. He  had  a  pair  of  strong  horses  that  he 
would  sell  me  for  the  sake  of  the  nurses.  We  went 
to  his  stable  and  found  a  good-looking  pair  of  sor- 
rels for  which  he  wanted  a  thousand  dinars,  an 
atrocious  price  for  Serbia,  but  not  in  our  predica- 
ment. The  price  was  paid  without  much  haggling, 
and  as  it  was  then  late  in  the  afternoon,  we  agreed 
to  get  an  early  start  next  morning,  the  last  day  that 
Alexandrovats  would  remain  uncaptured. 

Although  our  cart  was  large,  it  was  not  large 
enough  to  carry  food  for  seven  people  for  an  in- 
definite period,  their  luggage,  and  still  afford  space 
for  the  women  to  ride.  Food  and  blankets  might 


148       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

mean  life;  we  must  carry  all  we  possibly  could  of 
them.  So  the  order  went  round  to  cut  down  per- 
sonal luggage  to  the  vanishing-point.  Hard  as 
this  task  must  have  been  for  them,  the  nurses  merci- 
lessly trimmed  down  their  wardrobes  without  grum- 
bling. A  third  of  our  food-supply — tinned  meat, 
condensed  milk,  biscuits,  tea,  and  sugar — I  felt  I 
must  leave  at  Alexandrovats  for  the  Christitches 
in  case  they  should  come  on.  I  confess  it  was  a 
hard  decision.  The  lack  of  this  food  might  very 
well  cost  the  lives  of  the  nurses  for  whom  I  was  re- 
sponsible. We  were  leaping  into  the  dark.  No 
one  knew  where  or  how  long  we  would  have  to 
travel.  Yet  if  Mme.  and  Mile.  Christitch  should 
come  that  way,  depending  on  us  for  food,  their  po- 
sition would  be  perilous  in  the  extreme.  So  a  third 
of  everything  was  left  in  charge  of  a  man  we  knew 
we  could  trust,  with  instructions  to  hold  it  until  the 
enemy  was  nearing  the  town,  then  to  dispose  of  it 
as  he  saw  fit. 

Early  next  morning  Tichomir  drove  our  cart  to 

the  home  of  Mr.  B ,  where  his  things  were 

taken  on,  and  then  they  came  down  to  us.     Mr. 

B 's  and  Marie's  belongings  filled  about  two 

thirds  of  the  cart.  There  were  large  wicker  ham- 
pers, valises,  and  traveling-bags.  I  was  astounded 


SPY  FEVER  151 

that  a  man  and  his  cook  should  feel  the  need  of  such 
an  amount,  and  remarked  to  B that  he  evi- 
dently was  not  in  the  habit  of  traveling  light.  He 
looked  confused,  and  with  an  apprehensive  glance 
at  Marie  said  he  hoped  we  could  get  everything  in. 
That  cart  looked  like  the  popular  conception  of 
Santa  Claus's  sleigh,  but  we  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  the  load  was  not  heavy,  only  bulky, 
and  would  dwindle  day  by  day. 

Alexandrovats  was  in  a  furor.  Fast  retreating 
troops  had  struck  the  town  an  hour  earlier,  and 
were  going  through  at  breakneck  speed.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  sight  of  these  worn  soldiers  persuaded 
many  more  families  to  go,  for  the  departure  now 
became  an  exodus.  We  set  out  in  this  melee  along 
a  road  two  feet  deep  with  mud.  The  warm, 
bright  sunshine,  glorious  autumn  woods,  and  the 
sight  of  that  top-heavy  cart  gave  our  "hearts  and 
souls  a  stir-up,"  an  exultation  that  was  doomed  to 
a  quick  death.  About  two  miles  out  the  road 
tackled  a  small  mountain  in  a  series  of  switchbacks, 
not  steep,  but  almost  interminable. 

We  had  pushed  ahead,  leaving  the  cart  and 
driver  to  follow,  and  sat  down  on  a  grassy  slope  to 
wait  for  it.  No  cart  came.  The  fleeing  soldiers, 
thousands  of  them,  passed  and  were  gone.  The 


152       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

refugee  procession  thinned.  An  hour  went  by,  and 
still  our  ark  did  not  appear.  Then  came  a  dove 
in  the  form  of  Tichomir,  but  bearing  no  olive- 
branch.  With  frenzied  gesticulations  he  an- 
nounced something  to  Mr.  B ,  who  turned  to 

me  groping  for  words : 

"They  will  not — they  will  not — will  not — Gott 
im  Himmel — they  will  not  do,  those  horses 1"  His 
vocabulary  did  not  include  the  highly  significant 
adjective  "balky,"  but  certain  experiences  with 
Texas  mustangs  made  me  jump  to  this  conclusion. 

Leaving  the  women  on  the  hillside,  we  returned, 
and  found  a  very  meek  pair  of  beasts  as  immovable 
as  mountains,  which,  when  the  cart  was  unloaded, 
still  refused  to  budge.  The  only  thing  to  do  with 
that  kind  of  a  horse  is  to  get  rid  of  him,  but  precious 
time  was  flying.  Before  sunset  the  enemy  might 
be  in  Alexandrovats,  and  of  all  things  I  desired  to 
avoid  was  having  the  nurses  captured  in  such  an 
isolated  position.  Unhitching  the  pair,  we  re- 
turned to  the  chief  baker,  and  suddenly  entering  his 
shop,  we  surprised  him  counting  a  thousand  dinars 
in  ten  and  one  hundred  dinar-notes. 

In  a  few  well-chosen  words  I  told  Mr.  B to 

tell  him  what  I  thought  of  his  horses  and  of  the  sort 
of  man  who  would  play  a  trick  like  that.  This  did 


SPY  FEVER  153 

not  tend  to  soften  his  heart,  however,  and  he  flatly 
refused  to  return  the  money.  Not  to  get  that 
money  back  was  unthinkable ;  without  it  we  would 
not  have  enough  to  buy  other  means  of  transpor- 
tation, and  with  these  horses  we  could  not  hope  to 
get  anywhere.  With  touching  abandon  I  threat- 
ened and  lied.  I  said  I  was  a  government  repre- 
sentative, a  personal  friend  of  the  President.  I  re- 
marked if  the  Germans  came  and  found  me  there 
with  three  nurses,  Mr.  Gerard  in  Berlin  would  soon 
know  the  reason  why.  Anything  done  against  me, 
I  demonstrated,  would  be  against  my  great  and 
dangerous  nation,  and  anything  done  to  hinder  the 
escape  of  three  British  citizens  would  have  to  be 
fully  accounted  for  in  after  years.  I  represented 
the  deep  guilt,  the  sordid  avariciousness  of  his  con- 
duct, and  before  I  finished  I  had  two  thirds  of  the 
artillery  of  the  world  trained  with  dire  threats  on 
that  shop;  but  the  chief  baker  smiled  calmly,  bat- 
ting his  small  pig  eyes. 

He  was  sustained  by  a  secret  spring  of  power. 
My  predicament  had  fast  spread  through  the  little 
place,  and  the  lawyer,  the  man  with  whom  I  had 
left  the  provisions,  and  some  leading  citizens  were 
holding  an  indignation  meeting  about  it  around  the 
corner,  The  interest  these  men  took  in  us,  laying 


154       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

aside  their  own  anxieties,  is  one  of  the  many  things 
I  cannot  forget  about  the  Serbs.  But  their  hands 
were  tied;  they  dared  not  take  an  open  stand  against 
the  chief  baker.  With  the  approach  of  the  enemy 
he  had  become  bold,  and  a  truth  long  suspected  was 
now  virtually  certain.  He  was  in  league  with  the 
enemy,  and  would  become  burgomaster  of  the  place 
on  occupation.  Then  he  would  hold  more  than  the 
power  of  life  and  death  over  his  fellow-townsmen. 
They  stood  in  deadly  fear  of  him,  and  so  strongly 
suspected  his  affiliation  with  the  invader  that  for 
fear  of  reprisals  they  dared  not  make  way  with  him. 

So  Mr.  B and  I  had  to  fight  our  battle  alone, 

and  time  was  passing.  Meanwhile  the  women  were 
watching  the  sun  swing  westward  on  the  pleasant 
hillside. 

A  small  Belgian  automatic — from  Liege — hung 
on  my  belt,  less  imposing  than  my  mythical  cannon, 

but  more  tangible.     I  indicated  to  Mr.  B my 

intention  of  using  this,  as  a  bluff,  of  course,  for  law 
courts  and  ordered  dealings  had  ceased  to  be  in 

Alexandrovats.     B agreed  that  as  a  last  resort 

it  might  be  necessary,  and  all  the  more  so  because 
by  efforts  of  the  lawyer  four  oxen  had  been  found 
which  could  be  bought  for  less  than  the  two  horses 
cost.  We  must  have  the  money.  One  more  fren- 


SPY  FEVER  155 

zied  appeal,  and  the  baker  softened  a  little;  he 
would  return  all  of  our  money  except  fifty  dollars. 
This  he  must  keep  for  his  trouble.  We  closed  on 
this  finally,  and  soon  had  four  strong  oxen  instead 
of  the  balky  horses. 

I  shall  always  wonder  where  those  oxen  were  pro- 
cured. What  the  Government  had  overlooked,  the 
refugees  had  taken.  One  would  have  been  as  likely 
to  find  South  Sea  Islanders  on  Broadway.  But  I 
can  make  a  good  guess.  The  man  whose  house  we 
had  occupied  for  three  days  and  who,  although 
poor,  would  not  accept  a  cent  in  payment,  had 
brought  them  from  somewhere.  I  think  they  were 
some  he  had  been  saving  against  an  emergency. 
They  might  mean  much  to  him  and  his  family  later, 
yet  they  were  sold  to  me  at  a  price  so  low  that  after 
six  weeks'  constant  travel  I  sold  one  pair  of  them 
for  more  than  they  cost  me.  Scarcely  would  he  let 
me  thank  him. 

"Those  English  sisters,"  he  said  simply,  "are 
angels.  They  came  to  us  in  our  trouble  and  risked 
their  lives  to  save  our  soldiers.  All  that  any  true 
Serbian  has  to  give  is  theirs,  and,"  he  added  earn- 
estly, "when  you  go  back  to  your  own  country,  you 
will  not  say,  as  the  Suabas  do,  that  we  are  bar- 
barians, will  you,  American  brother?" 


156       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

The  desire  to  be  well  thought  of,  to  please,  to  be 
a  part  of  Western  culture,  to  do  the  thoroughly 
urbane  thing,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  charac- 
teristics of  the  Serb  as  he  is  to-day.  One  constantly 
meets  examples.  It  strikes  one  as  being  the  in- 
stinctive reaching  out  of  a  people  that  for  centuries 
drew  their  very  breath  only  at  the  pleasure  of  a 
terrible  oppressor. 

In  mid-afternoon  we  were  once  more  on  our  way, 
our  cart  presenting  no  difficulty  at  all  to  the  four 
fine  oxen.  For  three  days  from  that  time  we  were 
happy,  care-free  vagabonds.  The  weather  was 
beautiful,  still  days  bright  with  sunlight  and  flaming 
woods,  starry  nights  through  which  we  slept  like 
logs,  lying  in  the  open  after  the  long  marches. 
We  saw  comparatively  few  refugees  on  this  road, 
for  we  were  out  of  the  main  line  of  travel,  and  would 
not  strike  it  until  we  reached  the  Ibar  Valley,  one 
day's  journey  before  Rashka.  Some  of  the  most 
beautiful  scenery  of  Serbia  lies  in  the  mountainous 
stretch  between  Alexandrovats  and  Rashka.  On 
many  crags  stand  old  fortresses  and  castles  dating 
from  Roman  times. 

One  in  particular  I  remember,  Kozengrad,  so 
old  that  its  origin  is  purely  legendary,  and  on  so 
inaccessible  a  perch  that  it  is  named  the  "Goat 


SPY  FEVER  157 

City,"  these  being  the  only  animals  supposed 
to  have  been  able  to  scale  its  mountain  walls. 
For  a  long,  hard  day  we  tramped  in  and  out 
among  the  hills,  and  never  got  away  from  it.  We 
came  to  detest  it  as  a  personal  insult.  After 
that  all-day  march,  it  seemed  as  near  as  when  we 
began. 

These  days  were  one  long  picnic  for  us  all  except 
Marie.  Her  well-ordered  Teutonic  mind  was 
blank  with  amazement  at  our  mode  of  life.  To 
sleep  at  night  in  one's  clothes,  to  rise  next  morning 
and  begin  the  march  with  not  an  hour  to  spare  for 
one  to  arrange  one's  hair  in  a  fearful  and  wonder- 
ful fashion,  to  eat  with  one's  fingers  and  not  have 
enough  at  that — these  were  the  things  that  out- 
raged her  housekeeping  soul.  It  was  indecent; 
she  knew  it,  and  would  not  be  comforted.  Also 
she  could  not  in  the  least  make  out  what  it  was  all 
about,  and  I  was  unfortunate  enough  to  be  the  em- 
bodiment of  all  the  trouble  to  her.  Before  my 
advent  there  had  been  no  tramping  through  the 
mire,  no  nasty  food.  Ferociously  she  pouted  at 
me,  and  viciously  answered  all  her  master's  efforts 
to  cheer  her  up.  She  took  a  keen  delight  in  tan- 
talizing him  by  walking,  sure-footed  enough,  on 
the  very  brink  of  every  precipice  we  passed,  and 


158       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

when  to  divert  her  he  would  cry,  "Marie,  Marie, 
glauben  Sie  das  ist  schon?" 

ffAch  Himmel!  Schon  sagen  Sie?  Haben  Sie 
nicht  immer  Deutschland  gesehen?" 

Mr.  B told  me  of  a  little  episode  which  well 

illustrates  Marie's  order  of  intellect.  Before  they 
had  left  Belgrade  they  were  forced  to  leave  their 
home  hurriedly  one  day  to  take  refuge  in  a  neigh- 
boring cellar  because  big  shells  had  begun  to  drop 
on  their  front  lawn.  Marie  had  forgotten  some- 
thing and  stole  away  to  get  it.  She  did  not  return 

and,  after  a  time,  Mr.  B ,  much  worried,  went  to 

look  for  her.  He  found  her  setting  the  house  in 
order,  the  unavoidable  confusion  which  their  hasty 
departure  had  caused  having  left  the  place  littered 
up.  With  shells  bursting  all  around  the  house, 
Marie  refused  to  leave  until  she  had  swept  the  floors. 
Only  when  a  fragment  of  shrapnel  came  hurtling 
through  the  dining-room  window,  missing  her  by  a 
fraction,  did  she  consent  to  go. 

But  the  tug-of-war  between  her  and  me  came  on 
the  third  day.  The  women  were  getting  wearied, 
and  also  I  was  haunted  by  visions  of  their  plight 
in  case  the  fine  weather  should  turn  into  a  storm. 
There  was  not  room  in  that  covered  cart  for  them, 
and  time  would  not  permit  us  to  stop  to  seek  shel- 


SPY  FEVER  159 

ter.  The  thought  of  them  tramping  through  mud 
in  a  cold,  driving  rain  was  too  much  to  be  endured. 
Some  of  those  great,  bulky  baskets  belonging  to 

Mr.  B must  come  out.     We  had  stopped  for 

the  night  at  a  tiny  one-room  cafe,  for  the  sky  was 
overcast  and  to  sleep  in  the  open  seemed  hazardous. 
After  our  meal,  which  was  always  the  same,  mutton 
and  sweet  biscuit,  with  coffee,  tea,  or  cocoa,  I  put 
the  situation  up  to  the  party.  The  nurses  had  al- 
ready discarded  much;  I  was  carrying  very  little. 

Plainly  it  was  up  to  Mr.  B and  Marie. 

Our  soldiers  brought  in  the  baggage,  and  we  all 
began  unpacking  except  Marie.  She  opened  the 
hampers,  sat  down,  and  gazed.  I  also  gazed.  Mr. 

B 's  things  occupied  perhaps  a  sixth  of  those 

baskets,  the  rest  being  Marie's  treasured  accumula- 
tion of  more  prosperous,  happier  days.  There  were 
summer  hats  of  straw  and  lace  and  pink  paper  roses, 
elaborate  white  dresses  and  green  dresses  and  red 
dresses — dresses  that  had  been  ripped  to  pieces  and 
dresses  not  yet  made.  There  was  a  huge  basket 
of  mysteries  I  was  not  allowed  to  see,  and  six  or 
seven  pairs  of  flimsy  summer  slippers,  some  of  them 
hopelessly  worn.  It  was  a  regular  garret,  a  rum- 
mage-sale. The  whole  could  have  been  chucked 
into  the  river  with  less  than  fifty  dollars'  loss.  It 


160       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

was  a  great  relief  to  know  that  those  baskets  could 
be  left  behind  with  so  little  regret. 

"Tell  her  to  pick  out  what  she  will  need  for  a 
month,  all  the  warm  things,  and  throw  the  rest 
away,"  I  said. 

fflch  will  nicht"  said  Marie,  with  a  very  frank 
sort  of  smile,  and  continued  to  sit. 

"Tell  her  she  must." 

"Ich  will  nicht" 

"Tell  her  if  she  does  not  begin  by  the  time  I  count 
twenty,  I  will  do  it  for  her.  She  cannot  carry  those 
things.  We  will  pay  her  twenty  times  their  value. 
Tell  her  we  will  buy  her  many  new,  pretty  things, 
but  now  the  women  must  have  a  place  in  the  cart. 
Tell  her  this  is  only  fair.  She  does  not  want  to  be 
selfish,  I  am  sure.  Tell  her  she  is  a  good  girl,  and 
we  all  like  her  and  will  get  a  lot  of  nice  things  for 
her." 

"Ich  will  nicht"  with  the  same  smile. 

"Tell  her  we  will  leave  her  here  in  this  desolate 
place  with  these  strange  people  for  the  soldiers  to 
get  if  she  does  not." 

"Ich  will  nicht!    Lassen  mich" 

"Tell  her  we  will  throw  away  everything  she 
has,  tie  her  hands  and  feet,  pitch  her  into  the  cart 
and  take  her  by  force." 


SPY  FEVER  161 

"Gut!    Ich  will  nichtr 

Now,  one  can  outdistance  triumphant  armies,  one 
can  after  a  fashion  break  refractory  bakers  to  one's 
will,  one  can,  if  one  is  forced  to,  be  happy  in  very 
extraordinary  circumstances,  but  what  can  be  done 
against  an  "Ich  will  nicht"  like  that?  Nothing  at 
all,  and  nothing  was  done.  The  rest  of  us  discarded 
a  little  more,  the  things  were  repacked,  and  Marie's 
rummage-sale  moved  on  to  Rashka. 

Throughout  these  days  we  continually  met  de- 
tachments of  soldiers,  usually  scouting  parties  of 
cavalry.  The  officers  always  recognized  and 

greeted  Mr.  B warmly,  increasing  my  feeling 

of  good  fortune  in  having  found  him.  His  constant 
talk  during  this  time  was  of  Serbia,  and  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  Balkan  situation  proved  very  illu- 
minating. He  described  the  commercial  warfare 
that  for  years  previous  to  1914  existed  between  Ser- 
bia and  Austria  in  terms  vivid  enough  to  put  the 
thing  in  the  most  real  light  possible.  He  had  many 
stories  to  tell  of  strange  affairs  that  happened  from 
time  to  time  between  Belgrade  and  Vienna.  Of 
nothing  did  he  convince  me  more  strongly  than  that 
he  was  heart  and  soul  with  Serbia. 

Our  food  was  decreasing  at  an  alarming  rate  de- 
spite our  attempts  to  consume  it  with  care.  Also 


162       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

I  began  to  regret  that  I  had  not  been  provided  with 
papers  giving  me  some  official  position,  in  order  to 
get  things  from  the  Government.  But  with  the  aid 

of  Mr.  B I  expected  little  difficulty,  and  at 

Rashka  I  felt  sure  of  finding  either  an  English  mis- 
sion or  Sir  Ralph  Paget,  whose  place  it  was  to  look 
after  the  British  units. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  we  came  into  Rashka 
we  met  a  group  of  the  St.  Claire  Stobart  Mission 
of  Kragujevats.  At  the  same  time  we  came  into 
contact  with  the  main  body  of  refugees,  who  were 
to  be  our  constant  companions  until  we  came  to  the 
sea.  This  day  a  tragic  thing  occurred.  We  had 
passed  the  English  unit  before  it  had  broken  camp, 
and  so  were  well  ahead  of  it,  but  some  of  the  mem- 
bers, pushing  forward  on  foot,  overtook  us.  I  was 
sitting  by  the  roadside  chatting  with  two  of  them 
when  a  soldier  rode  up  and  spoke  a  lot  of  Serbian 
to  us,  from  which  we  could  only  glean  that  the  two 
women  were  wanted  behind  with  their  caravan.  I 
continued  my  way  to  catch  up  with  our  cart,  and  on 
all  sides  I  noticed  intense  excitement  in  the  continu- 
ous stream  of  refugees.  As  I  was  unable  to  under- 
stand anything,  I  was  at  a  loss  to  explain  this.  On 

reaching  Mr.  B ,  I  learned  that  an  English  girl 

had  been  shot  on  the  road  behind  us,  and  the  news 


SPY  FEVER  163 

stirred  the  refugee  horde  like  wind  across  a  grain- 
field. 

While  passing  along  a  hillside,  some  officers  had 
seen  horses  in  a  field  above  them.  They  needed 
horses  badly,  and  decided  to  take  these.  When 
they  started  up  the  slope,  however,  they  were 
warned  by  some  peasants  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  not 
to  touch  the  animals.  They  paid  no  attention,  but 
continued,  and  were  met  with  a  hail  of  bullets,  which 
flew  wildly  over  their  heads  and  rained  on  the  road 
below.  As  it  happened,  the  English  nurses  were 
passing  there,  and  as  they  ran  for  the  shelter  of 
their  carts  a  girl  of  nineteen  was  struck,  the  bullet 
passing  through  both  her  lungs.  At  such  a  time 
the  accident  was  truly  terrible,  but  as  I  heard  it  I 
could  not  imagine  that  it  would  determine  all  my 
future  course;  yet  it  did. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  as  we  neared  Rashka, 
lying  along  the  swift  and  muddy  Ibar,  a  chill  wind 
began  to  blow  and  rain  came  in  torrents.  It 
marked  the  end  of  our  picnic,  the  beginning  of  a 
four  weeks'  experience  as  terrible  as  it  was  unique. 

The  town  was  so  crowded  to  overflowing  that  I 
could  find  no  place  for  the  women  to  wait  out  of  the 
rain  while  Mr.  B and  I  went  to  seek  accommo- 
dations and  bread.  All  four  of  them  crowded  into 


164       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  cart  on  top  of  the  biscuit-tins  and  huddled  there 
while  we  went  on  our  eventful  quest. 

At  Alexandrovats  I  had  got  papers  for  Mr. 

B ,  permitting  him  to  accompany  me  as  far  as 

Rashka,  where,  I  was  told,  we  would  find  the  officer 
who  was  in  supreme  command  of  interned  people. 
With  this  permission  was  a  letter  explaining  my 
position  and  requesting  that  permission  be  granted 
to  him  to  proceed  with  me  through  Montenegro,  or 
wherever  I  might  find  it  best  to  go.  From  his 

friend,  the  lawyer,  Mr.  B had  also  secured  a 

letter  to  the  military  commandant  of  Rashka, 
couched  in  the  strongest  terms,  asking  that  every- 
thing possible  be  done  for  us.  Armed  with  these, 
I  of  course  expected  no  difficulty,  although  I  pos- 
sessed nothing  but  my  passport  in  the  way  of  offi- 
cial papers,  nothing  to  prove  that  as  a  head  of  a 
unit  I  was  entitled  to  receive  bread  and  shelter.  It 
is  only  fair  to  add  that  by  the  time  we  reached 
Rashka  the  situation  of  Serbia  was  more  desperate 
than  when  we  were  at  Alexandrovats,  consequently 
the  officials  were  on  even  a  greater  strain. 

However  this  may  be,  we  did  not  get  past  the 
commandant's  waiting-room.  We  were  inquiring 
for  him  there  when  he  walked  in  upon  us,  returning 
from  his  lunch.  He  was  not  a  pleasant  creature, 


SPY  FEVER  165 

rather  like  a  snapping-turtle,  and  began  snarling 
at  the  orderlies  before  he  caught  sight  of  me. 
When  at  last  he  did  notice  me,  I  saw  at  once  that  I 
was  not  exactly  persona  grata.  Of  course  I  was  in 
tatters — the  ox  had  seen  to  that — and  had  not  been 
shaved  or  washed  lately.  Also  we  were  both 
heavily  incrusted  with  mud  and  soaked  to  the  skin. 
Appearances  count  for  a  very  great  deal  in  times 
of  military  rule.  I  took  off  my  cowboy  hat  and 
greeted  him  in  French,  which  he  soon  made  it  evi- 
dent he  neither  relished  nor  understood.  Then  I 
indicated  Mr.  B ,  who  handed  the  lawyer's  let- 
ter to  him.  He  scrutinized  B fixedly  for  a 

full  minute,  made  no  offer  to  help,  but  remarked 
that  we  must  return  in  four  hours.  Then  he  com- 
manded his  orderly  to  show  us  out  and  slammed  his 
door  in  my  face.  I  was  nonplussed.  We  had 
thought  that  the  Red  Cross  and  mention  of  the 
English  women  would  prove  everywhere  an  open 
sesame.  Plainly  those  women  should  not  have  to 
paddle  about  in  the  rain  for  four  hours,  at  which 
time  it  would  be  dark. 

We  decided  to  try  another  officer,  whose  exact 
title  I  never  learned.  Our  reception  here  was  the 
same.  At  first  he  disclaimed  any  responsibility 
for  looking  after  such  as  we  were,  and  when  he 


166       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

learned  that  Mr.  B was  interned,  he  almost 

kicked  us  out  of  his  place.  Three  English  women, 
hungry  and  cold  in  the  rain,  seemed  not  to  influence 
him  in  the  slightest,  but  he  plainly  indicated  his 
suspicions  about  Mr.  B . 

As  a  last  resort  we  went  to  the  narchelnik,  al- 
though we  had  no  letters  to  him.  The  anteroom  to 
his  office  was  crammed,  and  when  after  an  hour  we 
finally  got  to  him  he  said  he  could  do  nothing  for  us. 

He  also  eyed  Mr.  B suspiciously,  and  ordered 

us  to  go  back  to  the  officer  from  whom  we  had  just 
come. 

As  it  happened,  the  Crown  Prince,  the  General 
Staff,  and  the  Government  were  then  at  Rashka, 
although  most  of  the  cabinet  ministers  had  moved 

to  Mitrovitze.     Mr.  B thought  of  an  old  friend 

who  he  said  was  rather  highly  placed  in  the  Depart- 
ment of  the  Interior.  Hither  we  took  our  bedrag- 
gled way,  and  there  Mr.  B 's  presence  precipi- 
tated events  with  the  rapidity  of  a  violent  chemical 
reaction. 

The  friend  for  whom  we  inquired  was  gone,  but 
we  were  shown  into  an  improvised  office  which  pre- 
sented a  scene  of  the  wildest  confusion.  Imagine 
what  it  means  to  pick  up  a  little  thing  like  the  De- 
partment of  Interior  of  a  nation  and  carry  it  about 


Serbians  about  to  be  shot  as  spies  by  the  victorious  Austrians 


Rashka  in  the  valley  of  the  Ibar 


SPY  FEVER  169 

on  ox-carts.  The  archives  lay  on  the  floor  a  foot 
deep.  Once  orderly  letter  files  were  heaped  about 
in  crazy,  topsyturvy  fashion.  Ink-bottles,  empty, 
overturned,  full,  littered  the  desks,  and  three  or  four 
subordinate  clerks  encumbered  the  rare  clear  spaces. 
The  department  was  in  the  act  of  executing  its 
third  move.  We  floundered  through  the  paper 
snow  to  the  desk  where  a  frail  man,  dark  and  very 
pop-eyed,  and  with  a  tiny  goatee,  sat  drumming 
languidly  on  an  American  typewriter  of  ancient 
model. 

We  handed  to  this  gentleman  the  letter  having 

to  do  with  the  extension  of  Mr.  B 's  permission 

to  accompany  me.  No  sooner  had  he  glanced  at  it, 
than  he  jumped  up  suddenly  and  crossed  the  room 

to  his  colleagues.     From  behind  B 's  back  he 

began  signaling  to  me  in  the  most  ridiculous  man- 
ner. He  placed  a  dirty  forefinger  on  his  lips, 
wagged  his  head  from  side  to  side,  and  winked  his 
pop-eyes  very  fast.  He  reminded  one  of  something 
hard  and  creepy,  like  a  cockroach.  The  others  con- 
versed in  low  tones  a  minute,  then  came  over,  and 

without  any  prelude  went  deftly  through  B 's 

pockets,  pulling  out  all  our  various  letters,  which  he 
was  carrying.  "These  belong  to  you,"  Pop-eyes 
exclaimed  to  me  in  French.  "Guard  them  as  you 


170       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

would  your  life !"     Seizing  B by  the  shoulders, 

they  marched  him  out  of  the  room  none  too  gently. 

Next  they  set  to  cross-examining  me  as  to  my 

whole  acquaintance  with  B .     It  was  growing 

dark  and  cold,  and  the  rain  still  poured.  I  could 
not  get  my  mind  off  the  nurses,  miserably  huddled 
in  the  cart ;  but  neither  the  strength  of  my  voice  nor 
my  French  was  equal  to  the  task  of  interrupting 
the  stream  of  interrogations  fired  at  me.  Hope- 
lessly was  I  submerged,  until  who  should  walk  in 
but  a  young  American  Serb  whom  I  had  known 
previously.  In  a  way  he  was  known  to  the  clerks, 
and,  as  I  found  out  later,  he  entertained  rather 
definitely  correct  ideas  about  them.  He  came  to 
my  rescue,  and  with  him  as  interpreter  I  made  more 
progress. 

They  wished  to  know  just  what  dealings  I  had 

had  with  Mr.  B ,  and  said  I  should  never  be 

allowed  to  see  him  again.     It  happened  that  Mr. 

B ,  because  he  had  nothing  but  Serbian  paper 

money,  had  paid  for  the  cart  and  oxen,  and  I  had 
promised  to  repay  him  at  the  current  rate  of  ex- 
change in  gold,  for  fortunately  all  my  money  was 
in  gold.  This  transaction  had  never  been  com- 
pleted, and  I  now  said  I  must  see  him  for  a  moment 
only,  as  I  had  a  little  matter  of  slight  importance 


SPY  FEVER  171 

to  settle.  Wild  excitement  followed  this  simple 
statement,  and  I  was  asked  for  every  detail  of  the 
affair.  I  then  remarked  that  I  owed  him  a  little 
money  for  the  cart  and  oxen.  They  brought  him 
in,  and  I  was  astounded  at  the  change  in  him.  He 
was  trembling,  and  appeared  on  the  verge  of  a  nerv- 
ous breakdown.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  in  very 
real  danger. 

I  took  out  my  purse  and  began  counting  the 
napoleons.  When  the  clerks  saw  the  gold,  which 
of  course  at  this  time  was  much  sought  after  by 
every  one,  they  appeared  surprised  and  jubilant. 
One  of  them  went  out,  and  returned  before  I  had 
finished.  He  had  a  lot  of  Serbian  notes  in  his 

hand,  which  he  gave  to  B ,  pocketing  the  gold 

himself.  "He  is  a  suspect,"  he  lucidly  explained 
tome. 

After  this  transaction,  I  was  able  to  convince 
them  that  three  English  nurses  had  really  been  out 
in  the  rain  for  hours,  and  that  shelter  must  be  found 
at  once.  They  held  a  consultation  among  them- 
selves, which  the  American  Serb  later  said  he  over- 
heard. Then  one  of  them  came  with  me,  saying 
that  he  would  find  us  a  place  to  stay  and  that  Mr. 

B might  spend  the  night  with  us  there.  I  did 

not  quite  understand  this  sudden  leniency  toward 


172       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

B ,  but  was  glad  of  it,  because  an  interpreter 

was  our  greatest  need,  and  I  wanted  to  keep  him  as 
long  as  possible.  The  young  clerk  showed  us  every 
courtesy,  first  offering  to  give  up  his  own  quarters 
to  us;  but  just  as  it  grew  dark,  a  large  empty  room 
was  found  where  there  was  a  stove. 

No  sooner  were  we  settled  here  than  the  clerk 
left  us  and  the  American  Serb  appeared.  Mr. 

B was  in  a  high  state  of  excitement,  but  Marie 

knew  nothing  of  his  agitation.  The  Serb  called 

me  aside,  and  asked  if  I  felt  kindly  to  Mr.  B , 

or  if  I  did  not  care  what  became  of  him.  I  replied 
that  he  had  been  kind  and  invaluable  to  us,  and  that 
I  was  distressed  at  his  position.  The  Serb  then 
said  that  he  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  the 
clerks,  relieved  of  the  presence  of  their  superiors, 

were  planning  to  rob  Mr.  B ,  knowing  him  by 

reputation  to  be  a  wealthy  man.  I  was  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  to  do  when  I  heard  this.  It  was  ob- 
viously in  their  power  to  do  anything  they  wished  at 
such  a  time,  yet  because  of  the  nurses  I  could  not 
afford  to  be  implicated  in  anything  savoring  of 
spies. 

I  called  Mr.  B and  told  the  Serb  to  tell  him 

what  he  knew.  Mr.  B heard  with  no  apparent 

surprise,  but  resigned  himself  at  once.  "They  cer- 


SPY  FEVER  173 

tainly  can  do  anything  with  me.  As  a  suspect,  they 
will  make  me  deposit  all  my  money  with  them,  and 
then  they  will  go  away,  and  I  will  have  no  redress 
because  everything  has  gone  to  pieces.  They  can 
do  with  me  what  they  like,  and  they  will.  You  can 
do  nothing  for  me  personally,  but  you  must  take 
Marie.  I  give  her  into  your  hands ;  you  must  take 
her  along  as  one  of  your  nurses.  You  can  keep  this 
for  me,"  he  added,  handing  me  a  package  which  he 
drew  from  his  coat.  He  had  known  me  less  than  a 
week,  and  the  only  tab  he  had  on  me  was  a  New 
York  address  which  I  had  written  down  for  him  be- 
cause I  did  not  even  have  a  card.  He  could  give 
me  no  address  for  himself,  but  wrote  down  that  of 
an  uncle  in  Bohemia.  The  package  contained 
twelve  thousand  five  hundred  dollars. 

Mr.  B then  turned  away  and  passed  down 

the  dark  street  without  saying  a  word.  I  confess 
that,  sorry  as  I  felt  for  him,  the  overpowering  sense 
of  having  Marie  on  my  hands  took  a  larger  place  in 
my  thought.  I  turned  and  went  in  where  the 
nurses  were  setting  out  mutton  and  sweet  biscuit. 
Those  biscuit  had  grown  sweeter  and  sweeter  at 
every  meal  until  now  they  were  pure  saccharine. 
Stepping  out  a  little  later  I  saw  a  figure  lurking 
close  by,  and  felt  convinced  that  our  place  was  being 


174       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

watched.     Soon  the  Serb  came  to  me  again,  saying 

that  Mr.  B had  sent  him  to  get  Marie  and  some 

of  their  luggage.     I  told  him  of  the  guard,  and  they 
took  precautions  to  get  away  unobserved. 

The  department  clerks  were  under  the  impression 

that  B was  still  with  me.     Later  the  Serb  came 

back  alone  and  spent  the  night  with  us.     He  said 

Mr.  B had  met  an  old  friend  and  was  in  hiding. 

Contrary  to  expectation,  we  were  undisturbed  dur- 
ing the  night. 

In  the  morning  there  was  no  sign  of  our  guard, 

and  no  one  came  to  get  B ,  as  I  had  thought.     I 

went  down  to  the  town,  and  was  standing  idly  on  a 
corner  when  a  soldier  passed  by  me  and  shoved  a 
piece  of  paper  into  my  hand.  It  was  a  diagram  of 
the  square  where  I  was  standing  and  of  a  street 
which  led  off  to  the  west.  It  was  fairly  accurate, 
and  a  door  some  four  blocks  from  where  I  stood  was 
marked  with  a  cross.  After  a  short  time,  I  found 
it — a  low  house  surrounded  by  high  walls,  the  only 
entrance  to  which  was  by  a  heavy  wooden  gate  that 
let  one  into  a  small  garden,  with  the  house  on  the 
left.  In  the  garden,  on  a  camp-stool,  animatedly 
chatting  with  a  group  of  French  aviators,  I  found 
Mr.  B .  He  glowed  with  joy  at  this  new  cos- 
mopolitan company  which  he  had  found;  also  he 


SPY  FEVER  175 

had  just  received  good  news.  He  had  found  an 
old  friend  in  the  street  the  night  before  who  had 
hidden  him  at  his  home,  and  early  in  the  morning  he 
had  despatched  a  soldier  to  find  me,  not  daring  to 
show  himself  or  even  to  write  anything.  Just  be- 
fore I  found  him,  the  news  had  come  that  all  the 
rest  of  the  Government  had  been  ordered  to  evac- 
uate in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Long  before  dawn 
Pop-eyes  and  his  retinue  had  taken  the  rough  road 
to  Mitrovitze.  Joyfully  I  returned  all  his  cash 
and  all  claims  to  his  cook.  I  could  no  longer  have 
him.  I  do  not  know  what  became  of  him,  but  I 
hope  he  escaped  capture. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ALONG  THE  VALLEY   OF   THE   IBAR 

AFTER  losing  my  interpreter,  and  with  him 
the  food  which  he  had  brought,  I  was  faced 
with  the  necessity  of  doing  something  quickly. 
Food  could  not  now  be  bought  at  any  price.  At 
least  it  was  impossible  for  one  not  speaking  the 
language  to  find  it.  First  I  went  back  alone  to 
the  narchelnik.  The  crowd  was  larger,  more  pa- 
thetic, than  on  the  preceding  day.  It  was  scarcely 
nine  o'clock,  yet  hundreds  of  wounded  soldiers 
had  already  dragged  themselves  there  to  beg  for 
bread. 

As  I  fought  my  way  in,  pushing  and  crowding, 
a  beast  among  beasts,  I  came  face  to  face  with  a 
handsome  young  peasant  woman  coming  out,  led 
by  two  soldiers  fully  armed.  She  was  crying  bit- 
terly in  a  hopeless  sort  of  way,  great  sobs  shaking 
her  whole  body.  In  broken  French  a  wounded  man 
gave  me  her  story.  She  was  a  young  widow  with 
several  children,  her  husband  having  been  killed 
during  the  first  invasion.  Some  starving  soldiers 

176 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR      177 

had  passed  her  hut,  and  seeing  that  she  had  some 
corn-flour  started  to  take  it.  With  her  children 
behind  her,  she  had  ordered  them  to  leave.  They 
came  on,  however,  so  seizing  a  rifle  she  had  killed 
one  of  them,  a  petty  officer.  The  military  authori- 
ties had  just  had  her  under  examination. 

When  I  came  into  an  inner  room,  immediately 
adjoining  the  narchelnik's  office,  the  crush  was  not 
so  bad.  Only  my  frenzied  "Americanske  mission" 
had  obtained  my  entrance  there.  A  few  very  badly 
wounded  soldiers  lounged  about,  and  a  small  group 
of  tired-looking  officers  stood  conversing  in  one 
corner.  At  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  sitting 
on  the  floor,  with  head  and  arms  resting  on  a  bench, 
was  a  ragged  old  man,  a  cheecha  of  the  last  line. 
He  was  at  least  sixty-five  years  old,  and  rested  there 
motionless,  without  a  sound,  his  body  seeming  inex- 
pressibly tired.  No  one  paid  the  slightest  heed  to 
him.  As  I  was  looking  at  him  four  orderlies  came 
in  and  picked  him  up.  Only  then  did  I  realize  that 
the  old  man  was  dead.  As  they  turned  him  over,  a 
terrible  wound  in  his  right  breast  came  to  view. 
It  was  plain,  how,  weak  from  hunger  and  loss  of 
blood,  he  had  dragged  himself  over  the  dreary 
mountains  into  the  town  and,  with  the  last  spark  of 
energy  left  in  him,  had  sought  the  source  of  all  help, 


178       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  narchelnik,  only  to  die  there  in  the  lonely  night. 

My  interview  with  the  narchelnik  brought  me 
nothing;  neither  interpreter,  bread  nor  papers  of 
any  description.  When  I  came  out,  it  was  with  a 
deep  feeling  of  discouragement.  The  tragedy  of 
this  retreat  was  becoming  more  and  more  manifest ; 
the  starving,  the  wounded,  the  dying,  and  dead  in- 
creasing hourly. 

Only  one  thing  was  left.  I  must  find  the  Eng- 
lish mission  and  turn  over  my  nurses  to  them  at 
once.  I  knew  they  were  in  the  place,  but  I  did  not 
know  where,  and  I  could  not  ask.  Walking  across 
the  principal  square,  trying  to  decide  where  to  go, 
I  met  Colonel  Phillips  and  the  Italian  military  at- 
tache, Major  de  Sera,  talking  to  one  of  the  English 
nurses.  The  colonel  was  especially  glad  to  find 
me,  as  Major  de  Sera,  whom  I  had  not  met  previ- 
ously, had  just  received  a  cable  from  his  Govern- 
ment to  inquire  for  news  of  Mme.  and  Mile.  Christ- 
itch,  the  Serbian  military  attache  at  Rome,  Captain 
Christitch,  being  a  son  of  madame.  I  was  able  to 
give  them  what  amounted  to  definite  news  of  their 
capture,  but  nothing  more. 

Colonel  Phillips  became  at  once  interested  in  the 
plight  of  the  three  British  nurses  whom  I  had,  and 
while  I  was  explaining  the  situation  to  him  Admiral 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       179 

Troubridge  came  up.  I  remarked  that  whereas 
we  had  got  along  very  well  so  far,  our  food  was  go- 
ing fast,  and,  as  they  knew,  I  had  no  facilities  for 
getting  anything  either  from  the  Government  or  by 
private  means.  A  chance  remark  of  mine  to  the 
effect  that  I  had  not  started  out  prepared  for  such 
emergencies  brought  this  question  from  the  Ad- 
miral: "What  did  you  come  out  here  for,  anyway? 
Joy  rides?" 

I  replied  that  I  was  ready,  as  an  American,  to 
place  myself  entirely  at  the  disposal  of  the  British 
Government  in  aiding  the  retreat  of  the  English 
nurses,  but,  as  even  he  must  see,  the  women  were 
suffering  from  a  state  of  affairs  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  control.  He  seemed  to  understand 
the  logic  of  this,  and  offered  to  walk  across  the  town 
with  me  in  order  to  introduce  me  to  the  head  of  the 
mission,  which,  he  said,  was  being  better  looked  after 
than  any  other  because  it  was  under  the  guidance  of 

V 

Dr.  M.  Curcin  of  the  University  of  Belgrade,  who 
had  been  appointed  by  the  Government  to  look  after 
affairs  connected  with  the  English  units. 

We  found  the  head  of  the  mission,  Dr.  Elizabeth 
May  of  Manchester,  and  the  Admiral  explained  the 
situation.  Dr.  May  said  she  must  speak  to  Dr. 
Curcin.  When  she  returned,  she  replied  that  Dr. 


180       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

v 

Curcin  was  unwilling  to  take  on  any  one  else,  as  a 
number  of  additions  to  the  party  had  been  made 
since  the  beginning  of  the  retreat,  and  the  food  ques- 
tion was  growing  more  difficult.  However,  they 
were  leaving  immediately,  and  I  might  travel  with 
their  kommorra,  which  consisted  of  about  thirty 
carts,  thus  avoiding  isolation  in  case  of  capture. 
She  said  that  she  could  not  assume  any  responsi- 
bility for  the  nurses  as  to  food  or  shelter,  but  would 
"hand  them  over"  to  Sir  Ralph  Paget  at  Mitro- 
vitze,  whose  duty  it  was  to  look  after  them,  she 
said. 

I  was  surprised  at  this,  but  at  least  it  was  some- 
thing to  go  along  with  them,  and  we  would  have 
enough  food  to  bring  us  to  Mitrovitze,  where  things 
would  be  settled.  I  said  we  would  be  prepared  to 
go  at  once.  She  told  me  to  be  punctual,  as  they 
could  not  wait ;  but  on  returning  to  my  cart,  I  found 
that  Tichomir  had  had  to  go  out  into  the  country  for 
hay  for  the  oxen,  and  would  not  be  back  for  several 
hours.  So  we  had  to  remain  behind,  and  did  not 
take  the  road  until  early  next  morning.  We  were 
again  isolated,  with  the  enemy  close  behind  us,  with- 
out Mr.  B 's  helpful  tongue  and  with  alarm- 
ingly short  rations.  Also  the  fear  began  to  haunt 
me  that  winter  would  begin.  I  hated  to  think  what 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR      181 

this  would  mean  to  the  women  when  we  had  no 
shelter. 

During  the  afternoon  of  the  forced  delay  I 
scoured  Rashka  for  food,  which  I  did  not  find.  The 
refugee  locusts  had  picked  it  clean.  While  on  this 
search  I  was  standing  in  front  of  a  low,  red  build- 
ing that  served  as  army  headquarters.  A  row  of 
automobiles  was  drawn  up  before  it  and  at  the  door 
of  one  of  the  limousines  stood  a  very  important- 
looking  man  in  a  heavy  fur  coat.  He  was  alto- 
gether a  dignified  looking  person,  the  sort  that  made 
me  feel  my  rags  the  more.  Thus  I  was  very  much 
surprised  when  a  natty  young  officer  of  perhaps 
twenty-five,  spotless,  shining  like  a  tin  soldier  from 
his  patent-leather  gaiters  to  his  gold  pince-nez, 
strode  down  the  steps  and,  coming  up  behind  him  of 
the  fur  coat,  thumped  him  resoundingly  on  the  back, 
crying  in  Serbian  "Good  day."  It  looked  like  lese- 
majesty  to  me;  but  I  had  the  thing  twisted:  the 
thumper,  and  not  the  thumped,  was  Alexander 
Karageorgovich,  Crown  Prince  of  Serbia.  He 
seemed  like  a  young  American  lawyer,  clean-cut, 
with  suppressed  energy  in  every  movement  as  he 
walked  down  the  street,  followed  at  some  ten  paces 
by  a  single  Serbian  major.  His  inheritance  was 
dwindling  to  the  vanishing  point,  scarcely  one  third 


182       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

of  the  fine  army  of  which  he  was  commander-in- 
chief  remained,  and  in  all  probability  he  was  about 
as  hungry  as  the  rest  of  us,  but  one  would  have 
thought  from  his  face  that  he  was  going  to  dress 
parade. 

The  Serb  has  an  astonishing  ability  to  suppress 
all  traces  of  feeling  when  he  so  wishes.  I  have 
never  yet  seen  one  admit  that  misfortune  had  got 
the  better  of  him.  The  officers  we  had  met  at  Stal- 
ach  talked  with  humor  and  brilliancy,  when  every- 
thing in  the  world  they  cared  for  had  gone  to  de- 
struction. With  seeming  light-heartedness,  the 
crown  prince  took  his  afternoon  walk  while  his 
kingdom  crumbled.  I  remember  later  meeting  in 
Montenegro  an  officer  I  had  known  in  happier 
days.  He  had  passed  through  butchery  as  bad 
as  anything  on  any  war  front,  he  had  seen  his 
regiment  almost  wiped  out,  his  country  devastated, 
his  private  fortune  and  his  home  destroyed,  his 
family  in  peril,  and  had  himself  frozen  and  starved 
for  six  weeks,  he  who  until  1912  had  never  known 
a  day's  hardship.  After  greeting  me  warmly 
and  happily,  his  first  act  was  to  give  a  very 
funny  pantomime  of  how  necessity  had  taught  him 
to  conceal  the  very  significant  fact  that  he  had  to 
scratch.  Lack  of  feeling?  A  few  minutes  later  I 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       183 

caught  him  off  his  guard,  and  a  clearer  expression 
of  abject  misery  I  hope  I  may  never  see. 

The  valley  of  the  Ibar  is  one  of  the  wildest  and 
most  beautiful  in  the  world,  but  in  that  three  days' 
march  we  came  to  regard  it  as  monotonous  beyond 
endurance.  Twenty  or  thirty  miles  of  it  out  of 
Rashka  surpasses  the  far-famed  Gorges  des  Loups. 
The  road  that  twists  along  the  tortuous,  shelving 
cliffs  that  form  its  banks  is  as  marvelous  as  the 
Route  des  Alps  and  as  beautiful  as  any  Corniche 
road  must  be.  Also  it  is  just  about  as  bad  as  a 
road  could  be  and  still  remain  a  road.  Rashka  lies 
in  a  narrow  plain  at  a  widened  part  of  the  valley. 
The  road  leads  out  along  this  plain  for  a  little  way, 
then  follows  the  rapidly  rising  banks,  first  on  their 
crest,  and  later,  when  they  tower  to  extraordinary 
heights,  is  cut  from  the  living  rock  midway  up  their 
sides.  With  the  rising  of  the  banks  the  valley  nar- 
rows to  a  gorge,  so  that  it  is  like  a  great  funnel,  in 
the  wide-spread  mouth  of  which  lies  Rashka.  Con- 
verging at  this  place,  the  refugee  throngs  from  most 
of  northern  Serbia  flowed  through  this  gigantic 
funnel.  The  surface  of  the  way  was  trampled  out 
of  all  semblance  to  a  road.  The  unbuttressed  outer 
edge  crumbled  away  under  the  tearing  pressure  of 
heavy  army-lorries  and  the  innumerable  ox-carts 


184       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

that  passed  over  it.  The  narrow  foot-paths  along 
the  sides  and  on  the  slopes  above  became  serpentine 
rills  of  slush  incessantly  beaten  by  crowds  of  men, 
women,  and  children  marching  from  horrors  behind 
to  horrors  ahead.  For  the  most  part  these  throngs 
were  forced  to  go  in  single  file  over  the  narrow 
trails,  which  strung  their  numbers  out  into  an  in- 
terminable silhouette  against  the  hills  that  seemed  to 
be  tirelessly  moving  in  some  great,  blind  pageant 
of  suffering. 

We  became  a  part  of  the  moving  hosts,  and  soon 
were  winding  along  the  high  cliffs  half  way  between 
the  beautiful  river,  five  hundred  feet  below,  and  the 
jagged  pinnacles  above.  A  November  sun  flooded 
all  the  valley  with  bright  sunshine,  picking  out  the 
figures  of  refugees  and  carts  far  ahead  and  behind. 
When  I  found  a  suitable  place,  I  scaled  a  rocky 
point  at  a  curve  in  the  valley,  which  rose  more  than 
a  thousand  feet  above  the  river,  and  from  it,  where 
there  was  scarcely  room  to  keep  a  footing,  got  a 
photograph  of  three  or  four  miles  of  the  refugee 
train  as  it  wound  along. 

In  the  afternoon  a  motor  ambulance  passed  us, 
in  which  were  some  nurses  of  the  Scotch  mission. 
Motoring  on  that  crumbling  road  was  not  an  un- 
alloyed pleasure,  and  we  were  not  surprised  to  find, 


(c)  Underwood  &  Underwood 

Crown  Prince  Alexander  of  Serbia 


(c)  Underwood  &  Underwood 

After  the  blizzard  in  the  Ibar  valley 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       187 

farther  on,  this  same  ambulance  at  the  foot  of  a 
steep  slope,  smashed  to  pieces.  Loaded  full  of 
British  women,  it  had  tumbled  down  the  hill  when 
the  road  caved  from  under  it.  One  of  the  nurses 
was  killed  instantly,  and  others  were  severely 
bruised. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  heard  an  army-lorry 
snorting  behind  us.  It  was  taking  the  inside  of  the 
road,  and  the  road  here  consisted  mainly  of  inside. 
Carts  were  pushed  to  the  crumbling  brink,  and,  just 
ahead  of  us,  one  which  had  not  quite  cleared  the 
path  of  the  heavy  car  was  bowled  over  the  side  with 
its  team  of  horses.  The  people  in  it  flew  out  like 
peas  from  a  pod,  but  miraculously  escaped  serious 
injury.  The  horses  fell  on  the  top  of  the  cart, 
which  had  lodged  against  some  small  trees  about 
half  way  down  to  the  river.  They  were  on  their 
backs,  entangled  in  the  wheels,  and  were  kicking 
each  other  viciously.  With  his  usual  presence  of 
mind,  Tichomir  seized  our  only  ax,  and,  leaping 
down,  set  to  hacking  away  indiscriminately  at  trees, 
wheels,  cart,  and  horses.  Soon  the  whole  thing 
rolled  on  down  into  the  river,  and  our  ax  with  it. 

We  continued  the  journey,  tracking  until  almost 
nightfall,  because  there  was  literally  no  room  to 
sit  down  along  the  road.  At  last  we  descended  to 


188       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  level  river  bank  and  sought  a  resting  place. 
There  was  a  chill  wind,  and  the  only  wood  for  fires 
was  the  great  sycamores  growing  along  the  river. 
A  large  straw  stack  looked  inviting  to  us,  but  on  its 
further  side  we  found  numerous  families  already  en- 
sconced, who  shooed  us  away  vehemently.  Next  I 
tried  to  get  into  a  small  military  camp  where  big 
fires  were  burning,  but  with  no  success.  Our  pride 
now  being  injured,  we  decided  to  "go  it  alone." 

A  fire  was  the  first  of  all  necessities,  and  I  sent 
Tichomir  to  beg,  borrow,  or  steal  an  ax.  He  did 
none  of  them.  There  were  dozens  of  camps  about 
with  axes,  but  none  could  be  borrowed,  he  said. 
Meantime  I  had  been  raking  twigs  together  and 
breaking  off  small  green  branches  with  my  hands. 
It  was  not  easy,  but  necessary,  and  I  ordered  him  to 
help.  He  was  tired  and  out  of  humor  and  refused. 
With  what  joy  would  I  have  pitched  him  into  the 
river,  but  I  needed  him  too  much.  He  plainly  indi- 
cated that  he  considered  the  whole  affair  useless. 
What  we  could  gather  with  our  hands  would  be 
gone  within  an  hour,  and  then  we  would  be  colder 
than  ever;  we  might  as  well  freeze  at  once.  With 
sarcastic  waggings  and  wavings,  I  conveyed  to 
him  what  I  thought  about  his  losing  our  ax.  "Nay 
dobra,  nay  dobra"  ( "no  good,  no  good" ) .  I  danced 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       189 

up  and  down  and  shouted  at  him  over  and  over, 
while  the  nurses  huddled  together  about  the  tiny 
blaze  we  had  kindled  and  ate  their  mutton  and  sweet 
biscuits. 

Tichomir's  imperial  eyes  flashed  and,  with  only 
a  calm  shrug  or  two,  he  said  quite  unmistakably, 
if  I  thought  it  possible  to  get  wood,  why  didn't  I 
go  and  do  it?  So  off  I  went,  thinking  to  find  a 
drift  down  the  river.  I  passed  a  camp  where  I  saw 
great  piles  of  neatly  split  logs,  all  ready  to  keep  a 
fire  going  the  whole  night.  It  was  evidently  the 
camp  of  some  high  civil  dignitary.  Through  the 
walls  of  a  neat,  little  tent  warm  light  glowed,  and  I 
could  hear  the  murmur  of  conversation  within.  By 
the  side  of  the  tent  a  man  was  busily  engaged  in 
cooking  supper.  Three  delightfully  savage  raga- 
muffins were  at  work  making  things  as  comforta- 
ble as  possible.  At  a  glance  one  could  see  they  were 
rascals.  I  passed  close  to  one  of  them,  and  rattled 
some  money  in  my  pocket.  He  looked  up  as  if  it 
were  a  sound  he  had  not  heard  lately.  "Piet  din- 
ars" ("Five  dinars"),  I  whispered,  pointing  to  the 
pile  of  wood,  and  then  to  a  spot  of  deep  shadow 
some  fifty  yards  distant.  With  a  pained  expres- 
sion he  made  signs  toward  the  tent,  conveying  the 
illustrious  ownership  of  that  wood,  and  making 


190       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

plain  the  fact  that  he  was  an  honest  man.  "Decit 
dinars'*  ("Ten  dinars"),  I  bid  up,  and  in  twenty 
minutes  we  were  roasting  our  toes  at  a  fine  fire  with 
enough  split  logs  in  sight  to  keep  it  going  until 
morning.  Tichomir  was  perplexed.  However 
bad  humored  I  might  have  been,  he  had  hitherto 
regarded  his  American  braat  as  strictly  honest. 

Along  this  march  we  began  to  see  increasing  in- 
stances of  starvation.  In  places  where  the  road  was 
particularly  bad  Austrian  prisoners  were  always 
found  tending  it.  Seeing  the  cross  on  my  arm, 
these  men  would  come  to  me  begging  medicines, 
for  many  of  them  were  suffering  from  malarial 
fever.  "Can't  you  give  us  bread?  Can't  you  give 
us  quinine?"  they  begged.  To  be  unable  to  supply 
these  simple  wants  was  very  sad.  There  were  few 
soldiers  guarding  these  prisoners;  indeed,  fre- 
quently they  were  virtually  alone,  but  starving  as 
they  were,  they  remained  peaceable  and  calm. 
They  obeyed  orders  willingly  and,  it  seemed  to  me, 
regretted  the  suffering  among  the  Serbs  as  much  as 
their  own  hardships.  Their  guards  suffered  just 
as  their  prisoners  did.  When  there  was  any  bread, 
it  was  share  and  share  alike. 

Coming  across  a  particularly  wretched  group  of 
these  prisoners  in  one  of  the  most  desolate  parts  of 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR      191 

our  way,  I  saw  a  tall  Austrian  weakly  leaning 
against  a  rock  and  weeping  in  an  insane  manner. 
He  sobbed  and  blubbered,  and  bit  his  lips  until  the 
blood  ran.  He  was  mad  from  hunger,  dying  by 
inches,  and  not  alone,  but  while  thousands  of  people 
passed  him,  and  three  hundred  of  his  comrades 
there,  faced  the  same  fate.  A  gray-haired  man 
came  by,  apparently  a  Serb  who  had  seen  better 
days,  but  who  was  now  walking  the  muddy  road 
with  a  pack  on  his  back.  Seeing  the  prisoner,  he 
stopped  and  asked  a  guard  what  was  the  matter. 
"No  bread,"  was  the  brief  answer.  The  Serb 
reached  into  his  pocket  and  took  out  a  large  hunk 
of  white  bread,  the  first  I  had  seen  in  a  long  time, 
for  bread  of  that  sort  was  not  to  be  had  at  any  price. 
The  starving  man  seized  it,  turned  it  over  and  over 
in  his  hands,  and  then  devoured  it  in  an  incredibly 
short  time.  For  a  brief  moment  a  sort  of  ecstasy 
came  into  his  eyes,  and  then  he  grew  violently  ill. 
He  vomited  up  the  precious  food  and  fell  to  sobbing 
once  more. 

Frequently,  after  bread  and  flour  gave  out,  the 
prisoners  would  procure  an  ear  or  two  of  Indian 
corn.  They  never  knew  where  they  would  get  any 
more,  and  as  this  was  all  that  lay  between  them  and 
starvation,  they  hoarded  the  grains  as  a  miser  would 


192       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

so  many  diamonds.  By  repeated  counting  they 
knew  the  number  of  rows  and  grains  on  a  cob,  and 
would  allow  just  so  many  rows  for  a  meal.  They 
either  parched  the  grain  in  hot  ashes  or  boiled  it  in 
old  tin  cans,  and  sometimes,  when  they  found  a  dead 
animal,  they  made  soup. 

Searching  about  for  wood  when  we  made  camp 
that  night,  I  came  across  a  slightly  wounded  soldier 
lying  inert  among  the  bushes.  It  was  chilly,  the 
ground  was  wet,  and  he  was  in  rags;  but  when  I 
stumbled  over  him  he  did  not  move.  I  turned  him 
over  and  looked  at  his  face.  He  was  a  mere  boy, 
not  more  than  twenty.  He  was  dazed,  and  when  he 
did  become  aware  that  some  one  was  near  him,  he 
mumbled  over  and  over  in  Serbian:  "Is  there  any 
bread?  Is  there  any  bread?"  I  dragged  him  to 
our  fire,  got  some  mutton  and  biscuit,  and  placed 
them  in  his  hands. 

For  fully  five  minutes  he  looked  at  the  food,  turn- 
ing it  about,  bewildered.  Then  he  dropped  it  on 
the  ground,  and  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  cob  from 
which  he  had  gnawed  nearly  all  the  corn.  Count- 
ing a  dozen  grains,  he  bit  them  off,  carefully  re- 
placed the  cob,  and  lay  down  in  the  mud.  It  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  we  awakened  him 
out  of  his  lethargy  to  the  extent  that  he  realized  we 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       193 

had  real  food  for  him.  Next  morning  we  had  to 
leave  him  by  our  smoldering  fire  with  the  scanty 
food  I  felt  justified  in  taking  from  the  stores.  Con- 
tinually during  these  dreary  weeks  we  had  thus 
to  make  compromises  with  our  better  feelings.  To 
leave  a  man  like  that  in  the  wilderness  was  simply 
murder,  but  there  were  the  women  of  our  party  to 
be  thought  of.  And  why  choose  him  for  life  when 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  his  fellows  were  in  a 
like  predicament?  The  only  respite  from  such  try- 
ing decisions  came  when  they  had  grown  so  common 
that  no  one  felt  them  any  more. 

In  watching  Serbia  die,  we  came  to  attain  what 
Nietzsche  terms  "metaphysical  comfort,"  and  the 
heroism  of  the  Serbs  supplied  the  exaltation  of  a 
Greek  tragedy,  showing  as  nothing  else  could  the 
strange,  paradoxical  pathos  and  yet  utter  insignifi- 
cance of  individual  lives.  When  heroes  die  by  tens 
of  thousands,  each  is  none  the  less  a  hero,  but  how 
inconsequential  each  I 

To  get  into  Mitrovitze  is  like  chasing  a  mirage. 
About  eleven  in  the  morning  we  came  to  it.  It  was 
perhaps  three  miles  away,  but  the  swift,  treacherous 
current  of  the  Ibar  lay  between,  and  there  was  no 
bridge.  So  for  four  hours  we  followed  the  river  as 
it  wound  about  the  city  in  a  series  of  broad  curves, 


194       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

until  on  the  opposite  side  from  which  we  ap- 
proached we  found  a  long  bridge  spanning  it.  On 
the  hilltop,  just  before  we  descended  to  this  bridge, 
we  passed  a  brand-new  cemetery  by  the  roadside. 
It  had  the  unmistakable,  extemporaneous  air  which 
the  swift  ravage  of  typhus  last  year  gave  to  many 
Serbian  burying  grounds.  There  were  perhaps 
fifty  graves,  none  of  them  more  than  a  week  old. 
Typhus  was  beginning  in  Mitrovitze,  and  two  vic- 
tims were  being  buried  as  we  passed. 

On  crossing  the  bridge  I  found  it  impossible  to 
get  our  cart  into  the  town  itself  because  of  the  refu- 
gees, and  left  it  outside  among  the  innumerable 
kommorras  then  encamped  there.  With  Tichomir 
as  the  best  excuse  for  an  interpreter  I  could  get, 
I  went  into  the  town  to  find  Sir  Ralph  Paget,  who 
I  knew  was  there,  as  well  as  many  English  nurses. 
It  was  about  three-thirty  in  the  afternoon,  and  I 
was  anxious  that  the  very  tired  women  should  have 
some  shelter  that  night,  because  for  three  nights 
they  had  had  none.  I  thought  to  hand  them  over, 
with  the  remainder,  thank  Heaven!  of  the  mutton 
and  biscuits,  to  Sir  Ralph,  and  then  decide  what  I 
should  do.  Alone  I  could  travel  fast,  and  the  re- 
treat, despite  its  terror,  was  intensely  interesting. 
I  should  have  to  trust  to  luck  about  finding  food. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       195 

My  alternative  was  to  stay  in  Mitrovitze  until  the 
Germans  came,  and  then  return  home  through  Aus- 
tria and  Switzerland. 

By  this  time  my  personal  appearance  was  truly 
awful,  and  the  gendarme  at  the  other  end  of  the 
bridge  kept  me  almost  half  an  hour  before  Tichomir 
could  persuade  him  to  let  me  go  on.  He  would 
never  have  dreamed  of  stopping  me  if  I  had  worn  a 
smart  uniform.  What  inquiries  we  could  make 
among  the  anxious  crowd  brought  us  no  informa- 
tion. No  one  seemed  ever  to  have  heard  of  Sir 
Ralph  Paget,  but  somebody  said  they  thought  there 
was  an  English  mission  in  the  casern  by  the  hospital. 
As  corroborating  this,  I  suddenly  sighted  an  Eng- 
lish nurse  standing  on  a  corner  watching  the  crowd. 
She  informed  me  how  to  reach  the  casern,  and  told 
me  a  special  train  at  that  moment  was  leaving 
Mitrovitze  with  a  hundred  and  twenty  nurses  who 
intended  to  reach  England  as  soon  as  possible. 
Their  train  journey  would  be  only  three  hours,  when 
they  would  again  have  to  take  ox-carts  and  start  for 
the  mountains.  But  there  were  many  more  nurses 
left  in  Mitrovitze,  for,  even  as  late  as  this,  some  still 
hoped  to  be  able  to  remain  and  work.  These  would 
stay  as  long  as  possible.  To  have  arrived  a  few 
hours  earlier  would  have  enabled  my  three  nurses  to 


196       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

join  this  hundred  and  twenty.  To  come  in  one  end 
of  the  town  as  they  were  going  out  the  other,  did  not 
tend  to  put  one  in  an  enviable  humor. 

After  a  few  minutes  I  found  Dr.  May  at  the 
casern.  She  could  give  me  only  general  directions 
where  to  find  Sir  Ralph,  but  offered  me  a  room  for 
the  nurses,  having  secured  more  shelter  than  her 
party  needed.  Grateful  for  this  aid,  I  set  off  to 
find  Sir  Ralph,  and  met  his  secretary,  Mr.  Leslie,  in 
the  street.  I  put  the  situation  of  the  three  nurses 
before  him  in  detail,  with  the  assurance  that,  as 
previously,  I  was  ready  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  aid 
the  British  women  in  any  manner.  I  asked  him  to 
bring  the  matter  to  Sir  Ralph's  attention  as  soon  as 
possible,  for  it  was  then  late,  and  I  could  not  go  in 
person,  but  had  to  return  to  my  party  outside  the 
town  to  bring  them  to  the  quarters  Dr.  May  had 
kindly  loaned  me.  Mr.  Leslie  said  he  would  tell  Sir 
Ralph  at  once,  so  that  I  felt  the  nurses'  safety  was 
assured,  at  least  to  the  extent  of  the  other  British 
women  in  the  place.  While  we  were  talking,  Cap- 
tain Petronijevich  came  up,  and  the  comic  side  of 
my  predicament  seemed  to  strike  him  forcibly. 
We  laughed  together,  and  I  went  away  feeling 
greatly  relieved. 

All  of  our  party  were  dead  tired  and  could  not  be 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR      197 

thankful  enough  for  a  roof  that  night,  as  it  rained 
heavily.  Despite  a  warning  I  had  received  that 
the  people  in  the  house  could  not  be  trusted,  I  slept 
soundly  on  the  floor  in  the  hall  of  a  Turkish  house 
where  we  were.  Relieved  of  the  necessity  of  get- 
ting under  way  next  morning,  we  all  slept  late,  and 
it  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  when  I  went  out  from  the 
secluded  court  where  our  house  stood,  through  two 
outer  courts,  to  the  street. 

One  of  the  liveliest  scrimmages  I  have  ever  seen 
was  in  session.  There  was  a  terrific  jam,  automo- 
biles, ox-carts,  and  carriages  grinding  mercilessly 
into  one  another,  and  the  town  could  not  be  seen  for 
the  people.  Acquaintances  were  shouting  excit- 
edly to  one  another  across  the  street,  and  children 
were  howling.  The  gate  through  which  I  came 
opened  on  a  large  square  where  nearly  all  the  streets 
of  the  town  emptied,  and  from  which  the  road  to 
Prishtina  ran.  The  trouble  was  that  everybody 
was  trying  to  take  this  road  at  the  same  time,  and  no 
one  was  succeeding  very  well. 

In  the  center  of  the  square  I  suddenly  spied 
English  khaki,  and  recognized  Admiral  Troubridge 
and  Colonel  Phillips.  They  were  seated  in  an 
ancient  fiacre,  and  wasting  a  good  deal  of  energy 
trying  to  impress  on  a  nondescript  coachman  the 


198       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

necessity  of  speedily  getting  free  from  the  tangle. 
The  Admiral  caught  sight  of  me,  and  beckoned  me 
to  him. 

"Where  are  the  three  nurses?  You  will  have  to 
get  out  before  noon,"  he  said  all  in  a  breath. 

"I  have  reported  them  to  Sir  Ralph ;  he  has  made 
arrangements  for  them,  I  presume.  What  is  the 
matter,  anyway?" 

"The  Serbs  seem  to  have  had  an  awful  knock. 
Word  came  after  midnight  to  evacuate  this  town  at 
once.  The  road  to  Prizrend  may  already  be  cut; 
if  so,  think  of  Ipek.  Remember  what  I  say:  think 
of  Ipek  as  a  refuge.  And  if  you  want  to  see  Sir 
Ralph,  you  had  better  hurry  to  his  house ;  but  he  has 
already  gone,  I  think.  Good-by,  good  luck,  and 
remember  Ipek,"  he  shouted  at  me  as  the  fiacre 
plunged  through  an  opening  in  the  crowd. 

I  hurried  down  the  street,  dimly  recollecting  some 
directions,  crossed  a  bridge,  and,  turning  to  the  left 
along  the  river  bank,  saw  Sir  Ralph  just  getting 
into  his  touring-car,  which  was  piled  high  with  lug- 
gage of  various  descriptions.  He  saw  me  coming, 
and  ceased  arranging  his  baggage. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Jones.  I  began  to  think  I 
should  go  away  without  seeing  you.  Mr.  Leslie 
told  me  about  the  three  nurses.  I  am  extremely 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       199 

sorry  that  I  can  do  nothing  to  help  you.  I  hope 
you  understand  how  it  is." 

"But,  Sir  Ralph,  you  know  the  circumstances 
under  which  I  have  these  English  nurses?  Having 
no  official  standing  and  no  interpreter,  I  am  unable 
to  get  anything  for  them.  Also,  I  feel  that  the  re- 
sponsibility is  growing  too  great." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  can  do  nothing.  The 
General  Staff  has  been  ordered  to  go,  and  I  must 
go  with  them.  After  they  go  I  am  powerless.  I 
should  advise  you  to  go  on  to  Prizrend,  where  there 
are  sure  to  be  parties  forming  to  go  over  the  moun- 
tains. Really  I  am  most  awfully  sorry." 

"Had  I  not  better  turn  them  over  to  Dr.  May? 
My  oxen  are  getting  weak,  and  our  food  is  almost 
gone.  I  am  sure  that  unaided  I  can  never  get  the 
nurses  to  Prizrend." 

With  the  sort  of  accent  that  American  actors 
strive  a  lifetime  to  attain,  looking  back  at  me  as  the 
chauffeur  started  the  car,  "Yes,"  he  said,  "that  is 
best,  if  you  can  persuade  Dr.  May  to  take  them." 

"Good  morning,  Sir  Ralph." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Jones."  I  turned  on  my 
heel  and  walked  away.  At  least  I  had  expected 
a  brief  note  recommending  that  Dr.  May  look  out 
for  these  English  women,  who  were  in  a  very  dan- 


200       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

gerous  situation.  I  had  gone  only  a  little  way  when 
I  heard  running  steps  behind  me,  and  Mr.  Leslie 
rushed  up  shoving  three  books  into  my  hand.  One 
of  them  was  in  a  postal  wrapper,  the  other  two  were 
uncovered. 

"Sir  Ralph  wishes  to  know  if  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  deliver  this  book  to  its  owner,  if  you  hap- 
pen to  find  her,  and  the  other  two  he  thought  you 
might  like  to  read  in  your  spare  moments." 

Saying  this,  he  fled  to  catch  the  moving  motor. 

I  stood  gazing  stupidly  down  at  the  books  in  my 
hand,  and  finally  became  aware  of  two  words  star- 
ing blackly  at  me  from  a  yellow  cover.  "Quo 
Vadis?"  they  impishly  screamed  at  me,  "Where  are 
you  going?"  "Quo  vadis,  quo  vadis?"  And  I 
could  not  answer  at  all.  Subtle  humor  to  meet  in 
an  Englishman! 

Having  told  my  nurses  the  night  before  that 
everything  was  sure  to  be  all  right  now,  I  had  no 
heart  to  go  back  to  them  with  these  fresh  complica- 
tions. Instead,  I  wandered  up  the  street  a  short 
way  to  think,  though  the  crowds  that  swept  me 
along  left  little  time  for  mental  gymnastics. 

It  is  a  Turkish  custom  for  women  to  mix  bread  at 
home ;  then  they  take  it  in  large  shallow  pans  to  the 
public  bake-shops,  where  it  is  baked  for  a  small  con- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  IBAR       201 

sideration.  The  good  Turkish  housewives  were 
now  engaged  in  this  daily  pilgrimage  along  the 
streets  of  Mitrovitze.  As  every  one  was  ravenously 
hungry,  they  were  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  "as  they 
marched  gracefully  along,  the  wide,  round  pans  ex- 
pertly balanced  on  their  heads.  Going  forward  in 
a  * 'brown  study,"  I  quite  unpremeditatedly  collided 
with  the  fattest  and  ugliest  of  these  bread  women 
and  both  of  us  were  showered  with  the  sticky,  yel- 
low maize  batter.  It  ran  down  the  good  woman's 
face  like  broken  eggs,  and  down  my  back  in  nasty 
rivulets.  Immediately  there  was  a  throng,  with 
shouts  and  excitement,  while  the  old  woman  seized 
the  copper  pan  and  started  for  me.  A  wall  of  grin- 
ning soldiers  cut  off  all  retreat ;  so  ignominiously  I 
bought  forgiveness  and  liberty  with  ten  francs. 

This  collision  brought  me  to  my  senses,  as  it  were, 
and  I  decided  to  try  another  appeal  on  Dr.  May. 
It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  I  arrived  at  the 
casern  and  found  my  way  to  the  huge  room  the 
party  of  forty  had  occupied.  They  did  not  seem 
alarmed  by  the  general  exodus,  and  were  only  then 
eating  breakfast. 

I  found  Dr.  May  seated  before  a  bowl  of  por- 
ridge, which  she  generously  wanted  to  share  with 
me,  but  I  had  no  appetite.  She,  of  course,  wished 


202       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

to  know  what  Sir  Ralph  had  done  with  the  nurses. 
I  told  her  about  the  brief  interview,  repeated  my 
predicament,  and  asked  if  she  did  not  see  her  way 
clear  to  taking  on  the  three  nurses.  She  replied 
that  she  sympathized  with  me  deeply,  but  that  Dr. 

V 

Curcin  had  refused  to  take  on  any  more,  and  she 
did  not  think  she  could  do  it.  I  then  remarked  that 
I  had  done  all  in  my  power  for  the  three  English 
women,  and  if  their  own  countrywomen  would  not 
make  the  very  small  sacrifice  that  receiving  them 
into  their  own  unit  would  require,  now  that  my 
power  had  ended,  I  did  not  know  what  would  be- 
come of  them.  Again  she  expressed  her  sympathy 
for  their  position  and  regretted  exceedingly  not  to 
be  able  to  take  them.  However,  she  made  the  same 
offer  as  at  Rashka,  namely,  that  our  cart  might  come 
along  with  theirs,  and  whereas  food  and  shelter 
could  not  be  provided,  in  case  of  capture  the  women 
would  have  the  advantage  of  being  with  them. 

V 

This  was  the  final  arrangement,  and  Dr.  Curcin 
agreed  that  when  it  was  possible  to  get  bread  from 
the  Government  he  would  ask  for  an  allowance  for 
us.  In  the  middle  of  that  same  afternoon,  the  six- 
teenth of  November,  we  all  left  Mitrovitze  together, 
taking  the  road  over  the  Plain  of  Kossovo. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS" 

TO  American  readers  the  name  Kossovo  doubt- 
less calls  forth  little  recognition.  But  to 
every  Serbian,  Kossovo  brings  up  an  image  of 
past  glory  when  the  present  dream  of  every  Ser- 
bian heart  was  a  reality.  A  powerful  Slav  nation 
existed  until  more  than  five  hundred  years  ago, 
when  the  Turks  won  a  crushing  victory  on  the 
Plain  of  Kossovo,  and  the  ancient  kingdom,  whose 
power  stretched  from  Mitrovitze  to  Prizrend,  be- 
came a  memory. 

The  great  battle  that  took  place  here  resulted  in 
such  slaughter  that  for  generations  it  became  the 
synonym  for  all  that  was  terrible.  Because  of  the 
great  flocks  of  vultures  that  were  said  to  have  gath- 
ered over  the  plain  after  the  battle,  it  has  always 
been  known  as  the  "Field  of  Blackbirds." 

To  me  the  name  of  Kossovo  calls  up  one  of  the 
most  terrible  spectacles  I  shall  ever  see.  The  plain 
on  the  day  after  we  left  Mitrovitze  epitomized  all 
that  is  sordid,  overwhelming,  heartrending,  and  in- 

205 


206       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

termingled  in  that  strange  maze,  which  is  ever  the 
wonder  of  onlookers  at  the  tragic  puzzle  of  war,  all 
that  is  noble,  beautiful,  sublime.  Until  that  day 
I  did  not  know  the  burden  of  the  tiny  little  word 
"war,"  but  never  again  shall  we  who  traversed  the 
"Field  of  Blackbirds"  think  of  war  without  living 
again  the  snow-filled  horrors  of  our  march. 

From  Mitrovitze  to  Prishtina  is  scarcely  more 
than  twenty-five  kilometers.  I  am  sure  that  never 
before  in  human  history  has  more  suffering,  hero- 
ism, and  patriotism  been  crowded  into  so  small  a 
space.  As  usual,  we  were  with  the  army,  or,  what 
the  day  before  had  been  an  army.  I  think  from  the 
Plain  of  Kossovo  what  had  been  the  most  stoical 
fighting  body  in  a  war  of  valiant  armies  became  for 
the  time  being  no  more  an  army,  no  more  the  expres- 
sion of  all  the  hope  and  valor  of  a  nation,  but  a 
ghost,  a  thing  without  direction,  a  freezing,  starv- 
ing, hunted  remnant  that  at  Belgrade,  Semendria, 
Bagardan,  Chachak,  Babuna  Pass,  Zajechar,  and 
many  other  places  had  cast  its  desperate  die  and 
lost,  and  needed  only  the  winter  that  leaped  in  an 
hour  upon  it  on  the  "Field  of  Blackbirds"  to  finish 
its  humiliation.  For  it  was  on  the  dreary  stretches 
of  Kossovo  that  the  cold  first  came  upon  us.  In  an 
hour  a  delightful  Indian-summer  climate  changed 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  207 

to  a  temperature  so  savage  that  of  all  the  dangers  it 
was  the  greatest. 

Forty  English  women  made  the  march  that  day. 
They  made  it  without  food  and  without  drink;  most 
of  them  made  it  on  foot  and  in  clothing  intended 
only  for  Balkan  summer.  I  think  it  can  be  said 
that  the  party  of  English  women  stood  it  better 
than  the  Serbian  refugees  and  fully  as  well  as  the 
Serbian  army.  Of  course  girls  who  entered  the 
march  mere  girls  came  out  in  the  evening  old  in  ex- 
perience. They  saw  the  things  that  generations  of 
their  sisters  at  home  live  and  die  without  the  slight- 
est knowledge  of — the  madness  of  starvation,  the 
passion  to  live  at  all  cost,  the  swift  decay  of  all  civ- 
ilized characteristics  in  freezing,  starving  men. 
They  understand  now  better  than  any  biologist,  any 
economist,  could  have  taught  them  the  struggle  for 
existence  and  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  At  the  end 
they  smiled,  made  tea,  slept  forty  in  a  Turkish 
harem,  and  next  day  marched  their  thirty  kilome- 
ters. They  are  the  heroines  of  the  Serbian  tragedy, 
and  they  realized  it  not  at  all. 

When  we  left  Mitrovitze  at  two-thirty  in  the  aft- 
ernoon, we  were  in  the  center  of  that  ever-surging 
refugee-wave  along  the  crest  of  which  we  sometimes 
moved,  but  behind  which  never.  Just  out  of  Mitro- 


208       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

vitze  the  road  climbs  in  steep  ascents  over  a  small 
range  of  hills,  then  dips  to  the  level  of  the  plain. 
There  are  no  trees  on  Kossovo,  a  detail;  but  have 
you  ever  seen  an  army  in  zero  weather  go  into  camp 
without  wood?  The  plain  continues  almost  to 
Prishtina,  where  the  road  begins  to  climb  once  more 
in  snake-like  zigzags,  every  curve  of  it  a  bog,  until 
from  the  top  of  a  range  Prishtina  is  visible,  lying  in 
a  snug  cove  among  the  mountains. 

We  had  scarcely  descended  to  the  plain  outside 
of  Mitrovitze  when  the  early  dusk  came  on,  and  we 
turned  aside  to  camp  in  a  corn-field,  having  come 
about  six  kilometers  in  two  hours  and  a  half.  There 
was  a  warm  breeze  from  the  south,  and  the  clear  sky 
looked  like  midsummer. 

Our  little  party  camped  near  by,  but  separately 
from  the  main  kommorra.  As  we  were  once  more 
partaking  of  mutton  and  sweet  biscuit,  about  a 
brightly  blazing  camp-fire,  Dr.  May  came  over  to 
see  us.  She  said  she  had  a  "bargain  to  drive"  with 
me,  and  I  said,  "All  right."  She  told  us  the 
nurse  who  had  been  shot  on  the  road  to  Rashka  had 
had  to  be  left  at  Mitrovitze  with  two  women  doctors 
and  a  nurse.  Mitrovitze  was  expected  to  fall  any 
day,  but  she  desired  to  send  back  the  one  motor- 
ambulance  they  possessed  to  see  if  the  sister  could 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  209 

be  moved.  The  young  British  chauffeur  she  hesi- 
tated to  send  back  to  almost  sure  capture,  but  I  was 
neutral.  If  I  would  take  the  ambulance  when  it 
caught  up  with  us  next  day  and  return  with  it  to 
Mitrovitze,  there  to  place  myself  at  the  absolute 
disposal  of  the  doctors,  either  to  bring  the  wounded 
girl  on  or  to  stay  with  them  and  be  captured  or  go 
anywhere  they  might  send  me,  she  agreed  to  take 
the  three  nurses  as  her  own  and  see  them  through 
with  the  rest  of  her  party.  I  replied  that  I  was 
ready  to  do  this,  and  she  took  on  the  nurses  at  once. 
The  ambulance  did  not  reach  us  until  Prishtina, 
however,  so  I  made  all  of  the  march  next  day  and 
returned  from  Prishtina  to  Mitrovitze,  but  more  of 
that  later.  At  last  I  had  secured  the  safest  pos- 
sible provision  for  the  nurses.  From  this  "bar- 
gain" on,  I  cannot  say  too  much  for  the  kindness 
and  consideration  shown  me  in  every  way  by  the 
English  women.  Later  when  I  fell  ill  during  a 
bitter  cold  spell,  I  feel  that  I  owed  my  life  to  the 
attention  which  some  of  them  found  time  to  give 
me  despite  their  own  hardship  and  sufferings. 
Nor  can  I  exaggerate  the  thoughtfulness  and  un- 

V 

selfishness  of  both  Dr.  May  and  Dr.  Curcin  in 
looking  after  the  comfort  and  security  of  the  mis- 
sion in  every  possible  particular. 


210       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

On  the  stretch  of  road  we  had  traversed  that 
afternoon  I  counted  fifteen  army-motor  lorries 
hopelessly  bogged  in  the  mud.  The  mire  was  well 
above  the  hubs  of  our  ox-carts,  and  it  was  all  the 
powerful  beasts  could  do  to  pull  the  carts  along. 
Before,  as  far  as  one  could  see,  was  a  squirming, 
noisy,  impatient  stream  of  carts,  automobiles,  and 
carriages,  while  behind  us  from  the  thousands  of 
camps  spread  about  Mitrovitze  an  unbroken  tor- 
rent of  vehicles  flowed  out  on  the  road.  I  esti- 
mated that  without  an  instant's  pause  day  and 
night,  at  the  rate  oxen  could  go,  it  would  require 
at  least  three  days  for  the  ox-carts  about  Mitro- 
vitze so  much  as  to  get  on  the  road.  Indeed,  many 
hundreds  were  taken  there  by  the  Germans  five 
days  later. 

There  were  crowds  of  Austrian  prisoners  at  work 
along  this  part  of  the  road,  their  best  efforts  only 
being  sufficient  to  prevent  the  way  from  becoming 
absolutely  impassable.  Here  I  saw  my  first  and 
only  German  prisoner.  For  some  reason  he  was 
not  working  with  the  others,  but  stood  on  the  road- 
side looking  down  on  them.  The  Austrian  prison- 
ers were  in  tatters.  For  weeks  they  had  not  had 
sufficient  to  eat.  The  German  presented  a  strik- 
ing contrast.  Superbly  equipped,  helmet  shining, 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  211 

his  wonderful  gray-green  uniform  successfully 
withstanding  the  hardest  usage,  a  comfortable 
great  coat  over  his  shoulders,  well  shod,  and  exhib- 
iting every  indication  of  being  well  fed,  I  concluded 
he  had  not  been  captured  very  long.  He  was  lo- 
quacious enough,  and  while  we  listened  to  the  Ger- 
man guns  then  booming  not  very  far  from  Mitro- 
vitze  he  naively  asked:  "But  why  is  every  one 
going  in  a  hurry  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?"  If  it  was 
irony,  it  was  well  veiled,  and  I  turned  the  subject 
to  Frankfort,  his  home,  and  found  him  an  enthusi- 
astic reader  of  Goethe.  He  was  a  fine  soldier,  but 
I  do  not  forget  what  the  cheechas  of  Chachak  did 
to  his  kind. 

Plowing  along  with  our  kommorra,  I  had  seen 
many  carts  overturned  while  trying  to  go  around 
the  motors  that  were  en  panne.  Especially  do  I 
remember  one  handsome  carriage,  drawn  by  a  fine 
pair  of  blacks  and  containing  a  man,  his  wife,  and 
several  children,  to  say  nothing  of  what  was  in  all 
probability  their  entire  household  possessions.  In 
attempting  to  pass  a  motor,  this  carriage  tumbled 
over  a  ten-foot  bank  into  a  miniature  swamp. 
Owing  to  the  softness  of  the  ground,  the  family 
escaped  serious  injury,  and  immediately  continued 
their  journey  on  foot,  leaving  all  in  the  bog,  not 


212       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

even  waiting  to  finish  the  horses,  which  were  lying 
in  distorted  positions  entangled  in  the  harness  and 
wheels.  Thousands  of  soldiers  were  marching  by 
us  all  this  time,  and  when  we  camped  it  was  in  the 
midst  of  them. 

Soon  after  Dr.  May's  visit,  we  went  to  bed  in  the 
open,  there  being,  indeed,  no  other  place  to  go.  At 
twelve  o'clock  we  were  awakened  by  rain-drops  in 
our  faces,  and  until  daylight  the  rain  continued  in 
torrents. 

We  got  under  way  about  five  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  while  it  was  yet  pitch  dark,  in  the  hope  of 
doing  several  kilometers  before  the  creeping  gla- 
cier of  vehicles  should  begin  again.  This  was  hope- 
less, however,  for  every  one  else  had  the  same  in- 
spiration, and  already  the  road  was  full.  I  use 
"road"  from  habit;  on  this  day  it  was  a  turbid 
stream,  sometimes  ankle-deep,  sometimes  up  to  the 
drivers'  waists  where  wet-weather  torrents  had 
broken  their  banks  and  overflowed  it. 

Through  this  highway,  long  before  it  was  light, 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  ox-carts,  carriages, 
and  automobiles  were  plowing  their  way.  For  the 
most  part  the  road  was  so  narrow  that  there  was 
no  chance  of  passing  those  in  front,  the  ground  on 
each  hand  being  impassable  mire.  After  an  hour 


Long  trains  of  oxen  were  pulling  the  big  guns  from  the  camps  along 
the  wavside 


Jn  many  places  on  Kossovo  swift  torrents  swept  across  the  road 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  215 

or  so,  when  all  the  gaps  were  filled,  this  meant  that 
if  far  ahead  in  the  environs  of  Prishtina  an  ox 
slipped  his  yoke  or  a  cart-wheel  broke  or  a  horse 
balked  or  an  automobile  stuck  or  a  driver  wished 
to  light  a  cigarette  or  any  other  imaginable  con- 
tingency came  to  pass,  a  few  minutes  later  carts 
just  leaving  Mitrovitze  would  be  held  up  until  the 
other  carts  twenty  kilometers  ahead  should  move. 
This  was  the  condition  on  all  the  mountain  roads  of 
Serbia.  It  added  at  least  fifty  per  cent,  to  the  time 
required  to  finish  one's  journey. 

Every  one  was  drenched.  Few  people  had  had 
any  sort  of  shelter  during  the  night,  and  the  rain 
had  been  such  as  to  come  through  the  tiny  tents 
some  of  the  more  fortunate  soldiers  possessed.  The 
women  of  the  English  mission  took  the  road  soaked 
to  the  skin.  Either  in  their  miserably  covered 
carts,  uncomfortably  perched  on  top  of  the  meager 
luggage  that  they  had  been  able  to  save  or  walking 
along  beside  the  drivers  when  it  was  possible,  I  saw 
them  pass  from  the  flooded  corn-field  where  they 
had  slept,  or,  rather,  spent  the  night,  on  to  the  road. 

The  army,  too,  was  beginning  to  awaken.  Long 
trains  of  oxen — the  army,  of  course,  had  all  the  best 
oxen,  huge  powerful  animals,  far  better  than  horses 
for  the  Serbian  roads — were  pulling  the  big  guns 


216       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

from  the  camps  along  the  wayside.  From  twelve 
to  twenty  teams  were  required  for  each  gun,  and 
even  then  they  had  to  strain  every  muscle  in  the 
frequent  mud-holes.  They  would  go  forward  a 
few  meters,  all  pulling  together  in  a  long  line,  then, 
as  the  heavy  guns  sank  deeper,  some  of  the  wilder 
ones  would  begin  to  swing  from  side  to  side,  oscil- 
lating like  a  pendulum,  each  swing  wider,  until  all 
the  teams  were  in  hopeless  disorder,  while  yokes 
broke,  and  drivers  cursed.  At  last  they  would 
come  to  a  standstill,  all  the  waiting  thousands  be- 
hind perforce  following  their  example,  bringing 
comparative  silence,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  Ger- 
man and  Serbian  cannon  could  be  heard  incessantly, 
like  rumbling  thunder.  Then  the  caravan  would 
move  on  again,  only  to  stop  once  more.  This  was 
repeated  all  day  long,  each  day  for  weeks  and 
weeks. 

During  one  of  these  lulls  we  heard  a  great  com- 
motion behind  us.  There  was  a  loud  trampling 
of  men's  and  horses'  feet,  and  a  lot  of  shouting, 
which  steadily  grew  louder,  and  finally  sounded 
abreast  of  us.  Out  in  the  marshy  fields  along  the 
road  I  saw  a  thousand  or  fifteen  hundred  Serbian 
youths,  ranging  in  age  from  twelve  to  eighteen. 
They  were  the  material  out  of  which  next  year  and 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  217 

the  succeeding  years  Serbia  was  to  replenish  her 
army.  Not  yet  ripe  for  service,  the  Government 
had  ordered  them  out  at  the  evacuation  of  every 
place,  and  had  brought  them  along  with  the  army 
in  order  to  save  them  from  being  taken  by  the 
enemy  into  Austria,  Germany,  and  Bulgaria  as 
prisoners  of  war.  For  it  is  these  boys  the  invaders 
are  especially  anxious  to  get.  They  are  the  force 
of  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  it  has  been  my  ob- 
servation, the  Teutonic  allies  now  dread  above  all 
else  in  the  world. 

One  of  the  Austrian  official  communiques  re- 
cently read,  "And  here  we  also  took  about  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  youths  almost  ready  for  military 
service."  It  is  the  only  official  mention  I  have  ever 
seen  of  such  captures,  although  in  the  fighting  of 
last  year  they  were  common.  It  is  a  bare  state- 
ment of  one  of  the  most  terrible  aspects  of  the  Ser- 
bian retreat. 

The  boys  I  saw  in  the  flooded  fields  were  not 
strangers  to  me,  but  now  for  the  first  time  I  saw 
them  bearing  arms.  When  the  trouble  first  began 
I  had  seen  these  and  other  thousands  all  along  the 
railway-line  from  Belgrade.  Many  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives  were  away  from  their  own  vil- 
lages, and  most  of  them  had  never  before  been 


218       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

separated  from  their  families.  There  was  no  one 
to  look  after  them.  They  did  not  even  have  the 
advantage  of  a  soldier  in  getting  food  and  shelter. 
If  there  was  bread  left  over  at  the  military  stations, 
they  got  it;  if  not,  they  did  not.  Never  were  they 
sheltered,  but  slept  where  they  happened  to  stand 
when  night  came  on.  Few  of  them  had  sufficient 
clothing;  only  those  whose  mothers  had  been  able 
to  supply  them  with  the  warm,  durable,  homespun 
garments  which  the  peasants  make  were  adequately 
protected.  I  used  to  see  the  smaller  of  them  sit- 
ting on  top  the  railway-cars  crying  together  by  the 
dozens.  They  were  hungry,  of  course;  but  it  was 
not  hunger  or  thirst  or  cold;  it  was  pure,  old-fash- 
ioned, boarding-school  homesickness  that  had  them, 
with  the  slight  difference  that  they  longed  for  homes 
which  no  more  existed.  "The  capture"  of  such 
as  these  to  be  honored  with  an  official  commu- 
nique! 

When  the  retreat  took  them  from  the  railway, 
they  marched  over  the  country  in  droves.  There 
were  no  officers  to  oversee  them.  They  were  like 
antelope,  roaming  over  the  wild  hills  along  the  Ibar. 
They  ate  anything  they  could  find,  rotten  apples, 
bad  vegetables,  the  precious  bits  of  food  found  in 
abandoned  tins,  and  yet  most  of  them  had  arrived 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  219 

safe  and  sound  at  Mitrovitze,  where  the  Govern- 
ment had  large  magazines  of  munitions. 

Now,  when  the  order  came  at  midnight,  like  a 
clap  of  thunder,  to  evacuate  Mitrovitze  immedi- 
ately, they  were  rounded  up  by  some  officers  on 
horseback,  and  to  each  was  given  a  rifle,  a  canteen, 
and  absolutely  all  the  ammunition  he  could  stagger 
under.  They  were  delighted,  tickled  to  death  to 
have  real  guns  and  to  be  real  soldiers,  and  as  the 
officers  were  insufficient,  they  were  soon  riddling 
the  atmosphere  with  high-power  bullets  in  every 
direction,  creating  a  real  danger.  If  a  crow  flew 
over  a  mile  high,  half  the  company  banged  at  him 
on  the  instant.  A  black  squirrel  in  a  wayside  tree 
called  forth  a  fusillade  that  should  have  carried  a 
trench  in  Flanders. 

They  were  not  particular  about  the  aim.  There 
were  plenty  of  cartridges  and,  after  all,  it  was  the 
first  good  time  they  had  had  in  many  a  week  and 
perhaps  the  last. 

Joyously  they  had  left  Mitrovitze  with  us  the 
afternoon  before  and,  like  us,  they  had  camped  in 
the  open,  but  here  the  analogy  must  rest.  We  had 
tried  to  sleep,  at  any  rate,  whereas  they  had  made 
night  hideous  with  violent  attacks  on  bats,  rats, 
rabbits,  and  even  the  moon  before  the  clouds  came 


220       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

to  her  rescue.  But  they  had  been  soaked  and  had 
had  nothing  for  breakfast  and  were  getting  tired 
of  their  own  exquisite  sport.  So  they  were  loath 
to  march  with  that  enthusiasm  and  at  the  rate  the 
officers  on  horseback  desired.  This  accounted  for 
the  commotion. 

It  was  very  simple.  A  few  would  lag,  then  more 
and  more,  and  soon  the  entire  thousand  would  sim- 
ply be  paddling  about  in  the  fields  like  so  many 
ducks.  Then  the  officers,  infuriated,  would  ride 
full  tilt  into  them,  heavy  riding- whips  in  their 
hands,  and  spurs  in  their  horses'  sides.  I  saw  many 
of  the  boys  ridden  down,  tumbled  in  the  mire,  and 
stepped  on  by  the  horses.  Blood  streamed  from 
the  faces  of  scores  of  others  whom  the  whips  had 
found.  The  rest  at  once  regained  their  enthusiasm, 
and  rushed  forward  with  cries  of  fear.  I  saw  this 
performance  recur  several  times  before  the  herd 
passed  out  of  sight  around  a  curve. 

Months  later  I  was  to  learn  by  sight  and  report 
the  staggering  denouement  of  this  childhood  drama. 
An  account  in  the  "New  York  Evening  Sun"  sums 
it  up  with  a  clarity  and  fidelity  to  detail  that  is  ter- 
ribly adequate: 

When  the  frontier  between  Serbia  and  Albania  was 
reached  a  gendarme  told  the  boys  to  march  straight  ahead 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  221 

and  pointing  to  the  west,  he  added,  that  there  would  find 
the  sea  and  ships,  and  then  left  them. 

Without  a  leader  or  guide  the  boys  crossed  the  frontier 
and  marched  through  Albania  in  search  of  the  sea  and 
the  ships  which  they  hoped  to  find  in  a  couple  of  days  at 
the  utmost.  They  were  overtaken  and  passed  by  columns 
of  old  soldiers,  armed,  equipped,  and  officered,  who  gave 
them  all  the  bread  they  had  and  encouraged  them  to  fol- 
low. 

No  one  has  described  how  long  it  took  these  boys  to 
reach  the  sea,  and  how  much  they  suffered  from  hunger, 
exposure,  and  fatigue.  They  ate  roots  and  the  bark  of 
trees  and  yet  they  marched  on  toward  the  sea.  At  night 
they  huddled  together  for  warmth  and  slept  on  the  snow, 
but  many  never  awoke  in  the  morning  and  every  day  the 
number  decreased  until  when  the  column  reached  Avlona 
only  fifteen  thousand  were  left  out  of  the  thirty  thousand 
that  crossed  the  frontier. 

It  is  useless  to  attempt  a  description  of  what  they  suf- 
fered, as  the  story  of  that  march  toward  the  sea  and  the 
ships  is  told  and  understood  in  a  few  words.  Fifteen 
thousand  died  on  the  way  and  those  who  saw  the  sea  and 
the  ships  "had  nothing  human  left  of  them  but  their 
eyes."  And  such  eyes ! 

The  Italians  at  Avlona  had  no  hospital  accommodation 
for  fifteen  thousand.  They  could  not  possibly  allow 
these  Serbian  boys  covered  with  vermin  and  decimated  by 
contagious  diseases  to  enter  the  town.  They  had  them 
encamped  in  the  open  country  close  to  a  river  and  gave 
them  all  the  food  they  could  spare,  army  biscuits  and  bully 
beef.  The  waters  of  the  river  had  unfortunately  been  con- 
taminated as  corpses  in  an  advanced  state  of  decomposi- 


222       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

tion  had  been  thrown  in,  but  the  Serbian  boy  soldiers 
drank  all  the  same. 

By  the  time  that  the  ship  to  convey  them  to  Corfu  ar- 
rived the  fifteen  thousand  had  been  reduced  to  nine  thou- 
sand. About  two  thousand  more  boys  died  during  the 
twenty-four  hours'  journey  between  Avlona  and  Vido,  and 
thus  only  seven  thousand  reached  the  encampment  in  the 
grove  of  orange  and  olive  trees  by  the  sea  on  the  island 
of  Vido. 

The  French  and  Serbian  doctors  attached  to  the  en- 
campment said  that  if  it  were  possible  to  have  a  bed  for 
each  boy,  an  unlimited  supply  of  milk,  and  a  large  staff 
of  nurses,  perhaps  out  of  the  seven  thousand  boys  landed 
at  Vido  two  thirds  could  be  saved.  There  are  no  beds, 
no  milk,  no  nurses  at  Vido,  however ;  and  despite  the  hard 
work  of  the  doctors  and  their  efforts  to  improvise  a  suit- 
able diet,  during  the  last  month  more  than  one  hundred 
boys  have  died  every  day. 

As  it  is  not  possible  to  bury  them  on  the  island,  a  ship, 
the  St.  Francis  d'Assisi,  steams  into  the  small  port  of  Vido 
every  morning  and  takes  the  hundred  or  more  bodies  out 
to  sea  for  burial.  The  allied  war  vessels  at  Corfu  lower 
their  flags  at  half-mast,  their  crews  are  mustered  on  the 
deck  with  caps  off,  and  their  pickets  present  arms  as  the 
St.  Francis  d9  Assist  steams  by  with  her  cargo  of  dead 
for  burial  in  that  sea  toward  which  the  boys  were  ordered 
to  march. 

And  the  survivors  lying  on  the  straw  waiting  for  their 
turn  to  die,  "with  nothing  human  left  of  them  but  their 
eyes,"  must  wonder  as  they  look  at  the  sea  and  the  ship 
with  the  bodies  of  their  dead  comrades  on  board  whether 
this  is  the  sea  and  the  ship  that  the  only  leader  they  had, 


Kossovo  stretched  away  in  the  dreariest  expanse  imaginable 


Now  and  then  the  storm  lifted  its  snow  veil 

Crossing  the  "Field  of  Blackbirds"  in  the  blizzard 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  225 

the  Serbian  gendarme  that  saw  them  safely  to  the  frontier, 
alluded  to  when  he  raised  his  arm  and  pointed  to  the  west 
and  told  them  to  march  in  that  direction. 

To  go  through  long  weeks  of  horror  and  pain  to 
achieve  victory  at  the  end  is  not  easy — we  call  it  by 
superlative  names.  To  go  through  what  the  young 
boys  of  Serbia  tasted  first  in  full  tragedy  on  Kos- 
sovo  and  in  succeeding  weeks  drank  to  the  dregs  of 
lonely  painful  death,  is  a  thing  that  I,  for  one,  can- 
not grasp.  But  any  American  worthy  of  the  name 
who  has  seen  such  aspects  of  life  as  it  has  come  to 
be  in  the  world  would  gladly  make  any  effort  in 
order  to  show  the  honest  disciples  of  unprepared- 
ness  in  this  country  even  a  little  of  the  real  terror  of 
invasion  by  a  ruthless  enemy — and  enemies  have  a 
habit  of  being  ruthless.  The  Alps  of  Albania  and 
the  islands  of  Greece  bear  on  their  gleaming  passes 
and  their  rocky  shores  the  lifeless  bodies  of  twenty- 
three  thousand  boys,  but  the  Alps  of  Switzerland 
still  are  undotted  with  the  dead  of  Switzerland,  and 
the  plains  of  Holland,  separated  from  a  conqueror- 
created  hell  only  by  electrified  barriers  and  well- 
trained  troops,  are  not  yet  soaked  with  the  blood  of 
Holland's  boys. 

Of  course  we  felt  sorry,  but  something  else 
claimed  the  attention  of  all.  The  rain  had  stopped. 


226       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

Every  one  began  to  hope  for  a  bright  day,  but  the 
clouds  still  hung  low,  heavy,  and  purplish  gray  and 
as  we  watched  the  stream  of  refugees  go  by  a  breath 
of  distinctly  cold  wind  struck  us. 

These  refugees  were  inextricably  mixed  with  the 
army.  A  rickety  little  cart  drawn  by  scrawny 
oxen,  and  containing  a  whole  family's  treasured 
possessions,  would  follow  a  great  gun  pulled  by  its 
fifteen  splendid  spans.  A  handsome  limousine  la- 
boriously accommodated  its  pace  to  a  captured  Aus- 
trian soup  kitchen. 

Theoretically  the  army  always  had  the  right  of 
way;  but  when  there  is  only  one  way,  and  it  is  in  no 
manner  possible  to  clear  that,  theory  is  relegated 
to  its  proper  place.  Few  people  had  sufficient 
transportation  to  carry  even  the  barest  necessities, 
so  they  waded  along  in  the  river  of  dirty  water. 
Dozens  of  peasant  women  I  saw  leading  small  chil- 
dren by  each  hand  and  carrying  Indian  fashion  on 
their  backs  an  infant  not  yet  able  to  take  one  step. 
Old  men,  bent  almost  double,  splashed  about  with 
huge  packs  on  their  shoulders,  and  many  young 
girls,  equally  loaded,  pushed  forward  with  the  won- 
derful free  step  the  peasant  women  of  Serbia  have, 
while  children  of  all  ages  filled  in  the  interstices  of 
the  crowd,  getting  under  the  oxen  and  horses,  hang- 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  227 

ing  on  the  automobiles,  some  whimpering,  some 
laughing,  some  yelling.  Every  one  was  wet,  every 
one  was  a  mass  of  mud,  every  one  was  hungry,  but 
summer  was  still  with  us,  and  no  one  was  freezing. 
Affairs  were  rapidly  approaching  the  limit  of  hu- 
man endurance  for  many  in  that  snake-like,  writh- 
ing procession,  but  as  yet  none  had  succumbed. 
Then  it  began  to  snow. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
the  blizzard  began,  first  some  snow  flurries,  then  a 
bitter  cold  wind  of  great  velocity  and  snow  as  thick 
as  fog.  The  cart  in  front,  the  cart  behind,  the  pe- 
destrian stream  on  each  side,  and  one's-self  became 
immediately  the  center  of  the  universe.  How  these 
fared,  what  they  suffered,  one  knew.  Beyond  or 
behind  that  the  veil  was  impenetrable.  We  were 
no  more  a  part  of  a  miserable  mob.  We  were 
alone  now,  simply  a  few  wretched  creatures  with 
the  cart  before  and  the  cart  behind,  struggling 
against  a  knife-like  wind  along  a  way  where  the 
mud  and  water  were  fast  turning  to  ice. 

In  less  than  an  hour  our  soaked  clothes  were 
frozen  stiff.  From  the  long  hair  of  the  oxen  slim, 
keen  icicles  hung  in  hundreds,  giving  them  a  glit- 
tering, strange  appearance,  and  many  of  them  de- 
spite the  hard  work  were  trembling  terribly  with 


228       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  cold.  For  a  short  time  the  freezing  wind  ac- 
celerated the  pace  of  the  refugees  on  foot.  The 
old  men  shouted  to  the  women,  and  the  women 
dragged  along  their  children.  But  soon  this  energy 
was  spent.  The  hopelessness  of  their  situation  was 
too  obvious  even  for  Serbian  optimism  to  ignore. 

Why  were  they  hurrying?  There  still  remained 
a  good  hundred  and  fifty  miles  before  the  sea,  and 
most  of  this  lay  over  the  wildest  Balkan  mountains, 
infested  with  bandits,  over  trails  where  horses  could 
hardly  go,  and  which  frequently  reached  an  altitude 
of  seven  or  eight  thousand  feet.  Along  that  way 
were  no  houses  for  days,  and  not  one  scrap  of  food. 
Also,  whereas  this  gale  had  blown  from  us  the  sound 
of  the  German  guns  behind,  it  brought — the  first 
time  we  had  heard  it — the  sound  of  the  Bulgarian 
guns  ahead.  For  as  the  Germans  were  sweeping 
down  from  Rashka,  the  Bulgarians  were  striving 
to  cut  off  the  line  of  retreat  between  Prishtina  and 
Prizrend.  The  last  line  of  hills  had  been  taken. 
No  more  than  six  kilometers  of  level  ground  and 
the  Serbian  trenches  lay  between  them  and  the  road. 
For  four  weeks  retreating  from  one  enemy,  at  last 
we  had  reached  the  wide-spread  arms  of  the  other 
and,  by  all  Serbians,  the  more  dreaded  invader. 

The  plight  of  these  refugees  seemed  so  hopeless, 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  229 

it  brought  us  the  ever-recurring  question,  Why  did 
all  these  people  leave  their  homes?  Surely  nothing 
the  invader  could  or  would  do  could  justify  them 
in  a  thing  like  this.  But  all  the  peasants  had  heard 
stories  of  the  fate  of  Belgium,  and  many  had  seen 
what  the  Bulgarians  were  capable  of  doing.  So 
here  they  were.  It  seemed  foolish  to  me,  but  for 
them  it  was  obedience  to  an  instinct. 

While  the  wind  at  no  time  diminished,  now  and 
then  the  storm  lifted  its  snow  veil  as  if  to  see  how 
much  was  already  accomplished  in  the  extermina- 
tion of  these  feeble  human  beings.  At  such  times 
we  came  once  more  into  the  life  of  the  throng,  and 
it  was  possible  to  form  some  idea  of  what  this  whim 
of  nature  meant.  Less  than  two  hours  after  the 
beginning  of  the  snow  the  mortality  among  oxen 
and  horses  was  frightful.  Already  weakened  by 
long  marches  and  insufficient  food,  the  animals  now 
began  to  drop  all  along  the  line.  When  one  ox 
of  a  team  gave  out,  the  other  and  the  cart  were 
usually  abandoned,  too,  there  being  no  extra  beasts. 
An  ox  would  falter,  moan,  and  fall;  a  few  drivers 
would  gather,  drag  the  ox  and  its  mate  to  the  side 
of  the  road,  then  seizing  the  cart,  they  would  tumble 
it  over  the  embankment,  most  frequently  contents 
and  all;  and  then  the  caravan  moved  on.  Automo- 


230       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

biles  also  were  being  abandoned,  the  occupants  con- 
tinuing their  journey  on  foot. 

I  find  in  my  notes  of  this  date  the  following  im- 
pressions : 

"On  every  side  the  plain  stretched  away  in  the 
dreariest  expanse  imaginable.  At  great  intervals 
a  tiny  group  of  miserable  huts  built  of  woven  withes 
and  mud,  typical  of  the  Sanjdk,  was  visible  through 
the  storm.  Other  than  these  there  was  nothing,  not 
a  trace  to  indicate  that  human  beings  had  ever  be- 
fore traversed  Kossovo.  Tall,  sear  grass  and  very 
scrubby  bush  covered  the  ground  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  until  they  in  turn  were  covered  with 
the  snow,  leaving  only  a  dead-white  landscape  de- 
void of  variety  or  form,  through  the  center  of  which 
the  thousands  of  people  and  animals  crept,  every 
one  of  us  suffering,  the  majority  hopeless.  Scores 
of  dead  animals  were  strewn  along  the  road,  and 
many  others  not  yet  frozen  or  completely  starved 
lay  and  moaned,  kicking  feebly  at  the  passers-by. 
As  the  day  wore  on,  I  saw  many  soldiers  and  pris- 
oners, driven  almost  insane,  tear  the  raw  flesh  from 
horses  and  oxen,  and  eat  it,  if  not  with  enjoyment, 
at  least  with  satisfaction. 

"In  many  places  swift  torrents  up  to  the  oxen's 
bellies  swept  across  the  road.  In  these  carts  were 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  231 

lost,  and  two  huge  motor  lorries  that  I  saw.  It  was 
impossible  to  salvage  anything.  The  swift  current 
caught  the  weakened  oxen,  and  before  even  the 
driver  could  jump  from  the  cart  all  was  swept  off 
the  roadway  to  deep  pools  below.  Sometimes  the 
occupants  were  rescued,  sometimes  they  were  not. 
One  of  the  wagons  of  our  kommorra,  filled  with  in- 
valuable food,  was  swept  away,  lost  beyond  re- 
covery. 

"This  was  heartrending,  but  as  nothing  compared 
with  the  sufferings  of  the  peasant  refugees  who 
splashed  along  on  foot.  By  making  wide  detours, 
they  were  able  to  cross  these  streams,  but  each  time 
they  emerged  soaked  to  the  skin,  only  to  have  their 
garments  frozen  hard  again. 

"We  now  began  to  overtake  many  of  the  peasant 
families  who  earlier  in  the  day  had  gone  ahead  of 
us,  walking  being  about  twice  as  fast  as  ox-cart 
speed.  They  were  losing  strength  fast.  The  chil- 
dren, hundreds  of  them,  were  all  crying.  Mothers 
with  infants  on  their  backs  staggered,  fell,  rose,  and 
fell  again. 

"Into  our  little  snow-walled  circle  of  vision  crept 
a  woman  of  at  least  sixty,  or,  rather,  we  overtook 
her  as  she  moved  painfully  along.  Methodically 
like  a  jumping- jack,  she  pulled  one  weary  foot  and 


232       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

then  the  other  out  of  the  freezing  slush.  She  had 
no  shoes  or  opanki.  She  was  utterly  alone,  and 
seemed  to  have  not  the  slightest  interest  or  connec- 
tion with  any  that  were  passing.  Every  effort  she 
made  was  weaker  than  the  preceding  one.  Death 
by  the  side  of  the  fleeing  thousands  stared  her  in  the 
face.  A  soldier  came  up,  a  man  of  the  second  line, 
I  judged,  neither  young  nor  old.  Hunger  and 
fatigue  showed  on  his  unkempt  face.  The  woman 
bumped  against  him,  and  the  slight  impact  sent  her 
over.  He  stooped  and  picked  her  up,  seeing  how 
weak  she  was.  Impulsively  he  threw  down  his  gun 
and  heavy  cartridge-belt,  and  half  carrying  the  old 
woman  started  forward.  With  every  ounce  of 
strength  she  had  she  jerked  away  from  him, 
snatched  up  the  gun  and  ammunition,  and,  holding 
them  up  to  him,  motioned  where  the  cannon  could 
be  heard,  and  she  cursed  those  horrible  Serbian 
oaths  at  him,  saying  many  things  that  I  could  not 
understand.  Again  he  tried  to  help  her,  but  she 
flung  the  gun  at  him,  and  began  creeping  forward 
again.  She  must  have  known  that  before  the  next 
kilometer-stone  she  would  be  lying  helpless  in  the 
snow.  So  did  we  witness  a  thing  that  medieval 
poets  loved  to  sing  about.  It  had  happened  almost 
before  we  knew.  Like  a  flash  of  lightning,  her  act 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  233 

showed  the  stuff  of  that  woman  and  of  the  people 
from  which  she  came ;  but  it  was  n't  poetic.  It  was 
primitive,  crude,  and  cruel,  and  it  was  n't  the  sort 
of  thing  I  want  ever  to  see  or  hear  about  again. 

"For  some  time  I  had  noticed  an  old  peasant  cou- 
ple who  moved  along  just  at  our  speed,  staying 
within  view.  They  were  very  aged  even  for  Serbs, 
and  carried  no  provisions  of  any  sort  that  I  could 
see.  The  old  woman  was  following  the  old  man. 
I  saw  them  visibly  grow  weaker  and  weaker  until 
their  progress  became  a  series  of  stumbling  falls. 
We  came  to  a  place  where  low  clumps  of  bushes 
grew  by  the  roadside.  The  snow  had  drifted 
around  and  behind  them  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of 
cave,  a  niche  between  them.  This  was  sheltered 
from  the  gale  to  some  extent.  By  unspoken  con- 
sent they  made  for  it,  and  sank  down  side  by  side 
to  rest.  Their  expression  spoke  nothing  but  thank- 
fulness for  this  haven.  Of  course  they  never  got 
up  from  it.  This  was  quite  the  happiest  thing  I 
saw  all  that  day,  for  such  episodes  were  repeated 
with  innumerable  tragic  variations  scores  of  times. 
The  terrible  arithmetic  of  the  storm  multiplied  them 
until  by  the  end  of  the  day  we  had  ceased  to  think 
or  feel. 

"At  last  a  change  came  over  the  army.     I  think 


234       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

it  was  the  young  boys  to  whom  arms  had  been  given 
at  Mitrovitze  who  began  it.  After  a  few  hours  of 
marching  that  day  every  ounce  one  had  to  carry 
counted  greatly.  Rifles,  camp  things,  and  over- 
flowing cartridge-belts  are  heavy.  At  first  I  no- 
ticed now  and  then  a  belt  or  canteen  or  rifle  by  the 
roadside.  Soon  it  seemed  as  if  the  snow  had  turned 
to  firearms.  The  surface  of  the  road  was  thickly 
strewn  with  them ;  from  every  stream  bayonets  pro- 
truded, and  the  ditches  along  the  road  were  clogged 
with  them.  The  boys  were  throwing  away  their 
guns  and,  like  a  fever,  it  spread  to  many  soldiers 
until  the  cast-away  munitions  almost  impeded  our 
progress. 

"Although  scarcely  four  o'clock,  it  began  to  grow 
dusk.  The  aspect  of  the  plain  seemed  exactly  the 
same  as  hours  before;  we  did  not  appear  to  have 
moved  an  inch.  Only  the  road  had  begun  to  climb 
a  little  and  had  grown  even  muddier.  The  snow 
ceased,  but  the  wind  increased  and  became  much 
colder.  No  one  seemed  to  know  how  far  we  were 
from  Prishtina,  but  all  knew  that  the  oxen  were 
worn  out  and  could  not  go  much  farther.  How- 
ever, to  camp  out  there  without  huge  fires  all  night 
meant  death,  and  there  was  nothing  whatever  with 
which  to  make  fires. 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  235 

"We  climbed  a  hillside  slowly.  It  was  darker 
there  than  it  would  be  on  the  crest,  for  the  sun  set 
before  and  not  behind  us.  A  little  before  four  we 
reached  the  top.  At  most  we  could  not  travel  more 
than  thirty  minutes  longer,  but  we  did  not  need 
to.  Below  us  lay  Prishtina. 

"This  ancient  Turkish  town  was  very  beautiful 
in  the  dusk.  It  stands  at  the  head  of  a  broad  val- 
ley, and  on  three  sides  is  surrounded  by  hills  which 
now  were  gleaming  peaks.  Lower  down,  the 
mountains  shaded  from  light  blue  to  deep  purple, 
while  a  mist,  rising  from  the  river,  spread  a  thin 
gray  over  the  place  itself.  Hundreds  of  minarets, 
covered  with  ice  and  snow,  pierced  up  like  silver 
arrows  to  a  sky  now  clear  and  full  of  stars.  The 
snow  was  certainly  over,  but  it  was  incredibly  cold 
on  the  hill-crest,  where  the  wind  had  full  sway. 
Some  bells  in  a  mosque  were  ringing,  and  the  sound 
came  to  us  clear,  thin,  brittle,  icy  cold.  But  no 
place  will  ever  seem  so  welcome  again.  It  was 
blazing  with  lights,  not  a  house,  not  a  window  un- 
lighted,  because,  as  we  soon  learned,  not  a  foot  of 
space  in  the  whole  place  was  unoccupied.  On  the 
right,  down  the  broad  stretch  of  a  valley,  for  at  least 
five  miles,  was  a  remarkable  sight.  We  had  moved 
in  the  middle  of  the  refugee  wave.  The  crest  had 


236       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

reached  Prishtina  the  day  before,  had  surged 
through  its  narrow,  crooked,  filthy  streets,  and  de- 
bouched over  the  plain  beyond  in  thousands  and 
thousands  of  camps.  Now  this  huge  camp -ground 
was  lighted  from  one  end  to  the  other  by  camp-fires 
for,  blessing  of  blessings,  along  the  river  was  fire- 
wood. There  must  have  been  five  thousand  carts 
in  that  valley.  This  meant  ten  thousand  oxen  and 
five  thousand  drivers,  and  every  driver  had  his  fire. 
The  thing  stretched  away  along  the  curving  river 
like  the  luminous  tail  of  a  comet  from  the  blazing 
head  at  Prishtina.  The  contrast  from  the  plain  we 
had  come  over  brought  exclamations  of  pleasure 
from  every  one,  and  for  a  minute  we  paused  there, 
watching  the  plodding  refugees  as  they  came  to  the 
top  and  gazed  down  into  this  heaven  of  warmth  and 
light. 

"A  woman  dragging  three  children  came  wearily 
up.  There  was  a  baby  on  her  back,  but  for  a  won- 
der it  was  not  crying.  She  stopped,  sat  down  on  a 
bank,  and  had  one  of  the  children  unfasten  the 
cloths  that  held  the  baby  in  position.  Then  she 
reached  back,  caught  it,  brought  it  around  to  her 
lap.  She  shook  it,  but  it  was  frozen  to  death. 
There  were  no  tears  on  her  face.  She  simply  gazed 
from  it  to  the  children  beside  her,  who  were  almost 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  237 

exhausted.  She  seemed  foolish,  sitting  there  hold- 
ing it.  She  was  bewildered.  She  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it.  Some  men  passed,  took  in  the 
situation,  and  promptly  buried  it  in  two  feet  of 
mud  and  snow.  The  whole  affair  had  lasted  per- 
haps ten  minutes. 

"We  moved  on  down  the  hill  into  the  town,  no 
longer  a  town.  It  was  an  inferno.  The  tens  of 
thousands  rushing  before  the  Bulgarians  and  the 
tens  of  thousands  ahead  of  the  Germans  met  and 
mingled  at  Prishtina  before  pushing  on  their  aug- 
mented current  to  Prizrend.  The  streets  of  Prish- 
tina are  narrow,  so  two  carts  can  pass  with  diffi- 
culty. They  wind  and  double  upon  themselves  in 
the  most  incongruous  maze,  and  they  are  filthier 
than  any  pigsty.  The  mob  filled  them  as  water 
fills  the  spillway  of  a  dam.  There  were  Turks, 
Albanians,  Montenegrins,  Serbs,  English,  French, 
Russians,  and  thousands  of  Austrian  prisoners. 
They  crowded  on  one  another,  yelled,  fought, 
cursed,  stampeded  toward  the  rare  places  where 
any  sort  of  food  was  for  sale.  Sneaking  close  to 
the  walls,  taking  advantage  of  any  holes  as  shelter 
from  this  human  tornado,  were  numerous  wounded 
soldier.s,  too  lame  or  too  weak  to  share  in  the  wild 
melee.  Here  and  there  in  some  dim  alley  or  in 


238       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  gutter  dead  men  lay  unnoticed.  And  every- 
where, on  the  sidewalks,  in  the  streets,  blocking  the 
way,  were  dead  animals,  dozens  and  dozens  of  them. 
There  was  here  not  even  the  semblance  of  law  that 
had  obtained  at  Mitrovitze.  The  Government  was 
crumbling,  a  nation  was  dying,  and  all  such  super- 
fluities as  courts  of  justice  and  police  were  a  thing 
of  the  past.  In  lieu  of  street-lamps,  however,  flar- 
ing pine-torches  had  been  stuck  at  dark  corners,  and 
the  weird  light  they  afforded  put  the  last  unearthly 
touch  to  the  scene. 

"Fighting  one's  way  down  these  lanes  of  hell, 
stumbling  over  carcasses,  wading  knee-deep  in  slush 
and  refuse,  looking  into  myriads  of  wild,  suffering 
eyes  set  in  faces  that  showed  weeks  of  starvation 
and  hardship,  the  world  of  peace  and  plentiful  food 
seems  never  to  have  existed.  Yet  less  than  two 
weeks  before  this  town  was  a  sleeping  little  Turkish 
city  where  food  and  shelter  were  to  be  had  for  a 

song,  and  where  life  took  the  slow,  well-worn  chan- 
i 

nels  that  it  had  followed  for  a  hundred  years.  If 
ever  there  was  a  hell  on  earth,  Prishtina,  which 
from  the  hilltop  yesterday  afternoon  looked  like 
heaven,  is  that  hell. 

"In  an  hour  and  a  half  I  came  about  six  blocks 
to  a  street  where  shelter  had  been  found  for  the 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  239 

forty  English  women  in  a  harem  where  absolutely 
none  of  this  turmoil  penetrated.  Never  before 
have  I  realized  what  is  the  peace  of  the  harem." 

In  regard  to  this  remark  in  my  notes,  I  would 
say  that  at  Prishtina,  at  Prizrend,  Jakova,  and 
Ipek,  when  the  retreat  had  reached  its  last  and 
most  terrible  stage,  before  it  was  shattered  to  bits 
on  the  Albanian  and  Montenegrin  mountains,  the 
harems  invariably  proved  to  be  havens  of  refuge. 
However  wild  the  struggle  in  the  streets  without, 
however  horrible  the  situation  of  the  unnumbered 
thousands  that  descended  in  a  day  on  these  towns, 
however  imminent  the  danger  of  invasion,  life  be- 
hind the  latticework  and  bars  moved  uninter- 
ruptedly, steadily,  peacefully,  tenderly  amid  in- 
cense and  cushions.  The  Turk  did  not  suffer  for 
food  because,  at  the  first  hint  of  danger,  each  had 
laid  in  a  supply  for  months.  In  this  region  they 
alone  had  any  money;  they  are  the  buyers  and 
sellers,  the  business  lords  of  the  country,  and  they 
had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  invasion,  for  were 
they  not  of  the  Teutonic  allies?  Their  kindness  to 
the  English,  French,  and  Russian  nurses  every- 
where throughout  the  retreat  is  one  of  the  fine 
things  to  be  found  in  that  awful  time,  and  many 
English  women  I  know  have  gone  home  with  a  con- 


240       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

firmed  conviction  that  "the  terrible  Turk  and  his 
harem"  are  a  very  decent  sort  after  all. 

My  notes  continue : 

"Last  night  I  found  no  shelter  here  [Prishtina] 
and  was  forced  to  follow  my  ox-cart  outside  the 
town,  where  thousands  of  others  were  incamped. 
All  night  long  the  freezing  crowd  wandered  in  the 
streets.  Most  of  them  had  no  blankets.  They 
could  not  lie  down  on  the  snow  and  live.  From 
fire  to  fire  they  wandered,  and  always  in  search  of 
food.  My  blankets  were  soaked  from  the  rain  of 
the  night  before,  but  I  wrapped  them  about  me  and 
lay  in  the  bottom  of  my  cart,  an  affair  made  of  lat- 
ticework through  which  the  wind  whistled.  Soon 
the  covers  were  as  stiff  as  boards,  and  sleep  was  im- 
possible. Through  the  night  I  listened  to  the  oxen 
all  around  moaning  in  the  plaintive  way  they  have 
when  in  pain,  for  there  is  no  hay  about  Prishtina, 
and  they  are  starving. 

"The  sun  came  up  this  morning  in  a  perfectly 
clear  sky  except  for  a  slight  mist  over  the  moun- 
tains that  turned  it  for  a  while  into  a  blood-red  ball. 
It  touched  the  peaks  to  pearl  and  the  hundred  min- 
arets of  Prishtina  to  shafts  of  rose.  Also,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  see,  it  caused  instant  activity  in  that 
mighty  camp.  Men  roused  themselves  and  began 


I 


ON  THE  "FIELD  OF  BLACKBIRDS"  243 

by  thousands  to  cut  wood  along  the  river.  Fires 
were  replenished,  meager  breakfasts  cooked,  oxen 
still  more  meagerly  fed.  Along  the  slope  behind 
me  I  saw  a  small  squad  of  soldiers  approaching. 
There  was  an  army  chaplain  among  them,  and  some 
men  in  civilian  clothes.  They  trudged  up  the  hill 
towards  the  rising  sun.  I  looked  on  a  moment,  and 
then  followed.  Soon  they  halted.  When  I  came 
up  I  saw  five  empty  graves.  In  each  a  wooden 
stake  was  firmly  driven,  and  the  five  men  in  civilian 
clothes  were  led  to  them,  forced  to  step  into  the 
graves  and  kneel  down  with  their  backs  to  the 
stakes,  where  they  were  tied.  Three  of  them  were 
middle-aged  and  sullen.  Two  were  young,  scarcely 
twenty,  I  judge.  They  obeyed  the  quiet  orders 
mechanically,  like  automata.  One  of  the  younger 
ones  turned  and  gazed  out  over  the  camp  just 
breaking  into  life,  then  he  looked  at  the  shining 
peaks  and  the  minarets.  From  the  town  came  the 
sound  of  morning  bells.  For  a  moment  his  face 
worked  with  emotion,  but  neither  he  nor  his  com- 
panions spoke.  An  officer  stepped  forward,  and 
before  each  read  a  long  official  paper.  He  spoke 
slowly,  distinctly,  in  the  somewhat  harsh  accents  of 
the  Serbian  language.  After  this  the  priest  came 
forward  and  read  a  service.  The  men  remained 


244       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

silent.  When  the  priest  finished,  they  were  blind- 
folded and  ten  soldiers  shot  them  at  a  distance  of 
thirty  feet.  They  pitched  forward  out  of  sight,  and 
were  buried  at  once.  They  were  Bulgarian  spies. 
Along  the  road  below,  the  kommorras  were  getting 
under  way,  more  than  I  had  as  yet  seen,  more  than 
at  Mitrovitze.  As  I  returned  down  the  hill  and 
neared  the  highway  they  were  moving  away  end- 
lessly, ceaselessly,  to  renew  the  endless,  hopeless 
march.  Ten  kilometers  down  the  road  the  cannon 
began  to  boom,  and  the  tramping  of  the  oxen  on 
the  snow  and  the  creaking  and  rumbling  of  the 
thousands  of  carts  were  like  the  beating  of  torren- 
tial rains  or  the  surge  of  the  sea  at  Biarritz." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BEHIND   THE  LIVING  WAVE 

day  following  the  great  blizzard  was 
warm  and  full  of  sunshine,  so  that  most  of 
the  snow  was  turned  to  muddy  slush,  making,  if 
possible,  the  highways  more  difficult.  But  cold 
winds  soon  began  again,  and  while  there  was  no 
more  snow,  the  way  of  the  refugees  from  Prish- 
tina  was  anything  but  easy,  the  Bulgarian  lines, 
only  five  kilometers  distant,  adding  nothing  to  its 
attractiveness. 

But  I  did  not  move  at  once  with  the  hordes  along 
this  part  of  the  way.  Instead,  I  waited  for  Dr. 
May's  ambulance  to  arrive  from  Mitrovitze,  in  or- 
der to  make  the  trip  back  to  that  place,  according  to 
our  arrangement.  The  main  part  of  the  English 
unit  went  on  at  once,  but  one  Englishman  remained 
behind  with  his  cart  to  take  on  the  man  who  was 
bringing  the  ambulance.  He  was  to  have  over- 
taken us  the  day  before,  but  did  not,  and  so  we  were 
momentarily  expecting  him.  However,  not  until 
late  afternoon  did  he  arrive;  so  that  I  had  a  whole 

245 


246       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

day  of  idleness  in  Prishtina,  and  did  not  start  back 
to  Mitrovitze  until  next  morning. 

Although  unnumbered  thousands  were  leaving 
all  the  time,  more  poured  into  Prishtina  to  take  their 
places,  and  all  that  day  the  congestion  remained 
constant.  As  soon  as  the  English  party  had  gone, 
I  wandered  out  into  this  maelstrom  purely  as  a 
sight-seer.  It  felt  queer,  after  so  many  weeks  of 
retreating,  during  which  always  "the  great  affair 
was  to  move,"  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  loaf  and 
watch  others  flee.  In  the  bright  sunshine  the 
streets  were  not  weird,  as  they  had  appeared  the 
evening  before,  though  quite  as  revolting  and  terri- 
ble. 

I  went  first  out  on  a  long  search  for  small  change. 
Every  one  had  been  hoarding  their  silver  money 
for  weeks,  and  things  had  come  to  such  a  pass  now 
that  one  could  not  buy  even  the  scant  things  that 
were  for  sale  unless  he  had  the  exact  change  or  was 
willing  to  give  the  seller  the  difference.  After  a 
dozen  or  more  futile  attempts  I  found  a  druggist 
who  was  willing  to  give  me  silver  francs  for  gold, 
but  franc  for  franc,  although  gold  was  now  at  a 
great  premium. 

Shortly  after  this  fortunate  find  I  wandered  to 
the  principal  square  of  the  place,  on  one  side  of 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      247 

which  stood  an  immense  stone  building  which  was 
temporarily  occupied  by  the  General  Staff.  Strings 
of  new  American  touring-cars  were  drawn  up  in 
front  of  it.  They  were  piled  high  with  baggage, 
and  the  chauffeurs  were  standing  alertly  around, 
as  if  expecting  urgent  orders.  No  one  knew  when 
instant  evacuation  might  be  necessary. 

On  another  side  of  the  square  was  the  office  of 
the  narchelnik  stanitza,  whom  the  Englishman,  Mr. 
Stone,  and  I  now  sought  out  on  some  trivial  busi- 
ness. At  his  outer  door  we  met  Mrs.  St.  Claire 
Stobart,  who,  unknown  to  Dr.  May's  section  of  her 
unit,  had  come  into  Prishtina  that  morning  with 
the  second  army. 

When  hostilities  were  renewed  last  autumn,  Mrs. 
Stobart  left  her  main  unit  at  Kragujevats,  and  with 
several  ambulances,  hospital  tents,  doctors,  nurses, 
and  orderlies  formed  what  was  unofficially  known 
in  Serbia  as  the  "flying  corps."  They  followed  the 
army  in  all  its  moves  from  northern  Serbia  to  Ipek. 
This  necessitated  forced  march,  sometimes  of  thir- 
ty-six hours'  duration.  It  frequently  meant  three 
or  four  moves  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  much  more 
traveling  at  night  than  in  daylight.  It  required 
taking  automobiles  where  automobiles  had  never 
been  before,  and  where  it  will  be  long  before  they 


248       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

are  again.  It  entailed  an  endless  routine  of  put- 
ting up  and  hauling  down  tents,  of  scanty  meals 
and  broken  rest,  of  being  cold  and  soaked  and  tired 
to  death.  The  chauffeurs  were  men,  but  much  of 
the  most  arduous  labor  was  done,  and  done  su- 
perbly well,  by  young  girls. 

For  instance,  the  authoritative  person  who  was 
responsible  for  the  proper  putting  up  and  taking 
down  of  the  numerous  tents  was  a  London  girl  of 
scarcely  twenty.  How  would  you  like  to  see  to 
the  striking  of  four  or  five  large  tents  in  the  dead  of 
a  freezing  night,  while  the  wind  was  blowing  great 
guns,  and  the  orderlies,  whose  language  you  could 
not  speak,  were  so  numb  they  would  not  work? 
How  would  you  like  to  be  held  responsible  for  the 
placing  of  everything  in  the  proper  order,  only  to 
be  forced  to  pitch  the  lot  again  after  a  sleepless  ride 
of  hours  in  a  springless  cart,  or  perhaps  spent  in 
pushing  an  ambulance  through  mud-holes,  when  all 
the  army  had  gone  past  and  nothing  remained  be- 
tween you  and  the  enemy,  but  a  few  kilometers  of 
road?  How  would  you  like  to  subsist  on  black 
bread  and  thin  soup  and  get  so  little  of  it  that  when 
meal-time  came  you  felt  like  a  wolf  in  famine. 
Three  months  after  I  saw  the  flying  corps  at  Prish- 
tina  I  met  this  young  lady  again.  It  was  Sunday 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      249 

evening,  and  we  were  dining  in  the  pretentious 
restaurant  of  a  pretentious  New  York  hotel.  The 
room  was  filled  with  beautiful  women  in  beautiful 
clothes,  who  laughed  and  sparkled,  sipped  their 
wine,  and  toyed  with  their  food;  but  none  of  them 
laughed  or  sparkled  or  sipped  or  toyed  with  greater 
vivacity  and  light-hearted  charm  than  this  luxuri- 
ous girl  whose  pastimes  it  had  been  to  watch  Ger- 
man "busy-Berthas"  drop  seventeen-inch  shells 
about  her  hospital  in  Antwerp,  or  to  pitch  frozen 
tents  on  bleak  Serbian  hills  for  shot-riddled  men  to 
die  in.  Since  seeing  the  English  women  in  Serbia 
and  elsewhere,  a  wonder  which  never  troubled  me 
previously  has  been  daily  growing  in  my  mind. 
Why  does  n't  England  turn  over  this  war  to  her 
women? 

This  by  way  of  digression.  Mrs.  Stobart  had 
business  at  general  headquarters,  and  we  accom- 
panied her  there,  I  being  secretly  gratified.  I  had 
been  wishing  for  some  pretext  to  take  me  into  that 
building,  teeming  with  its  harassed  and  desperate 
officers,  but  in  war-time,  and  such  war,  one  does  not 
scout  about  without  some  good  excuse.  Quite  in- 
tentionally I  got  lost  for  a  little  while,  and  went 
about  peering  into  doors  to  see  what  the  general 
staff  of  an  army  such  as  the  Serbian  one  was  at  that 


250     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

moment  looked  like.     The  main  thing  I  remember 
is  that  in  many  of  those  rooms  where  the  staff  offi- 
cers worked  were  piles  of  hay  in  the  corners  where 
they  slept,  littered  boxes  standing  about  off  which 
they  dined,  and  portemanteaux  out  of  which  they 
lived.     Ordinarily  the  Serbian  officer  is  the  smart- 
est and  most  faultlessly  got  up  of  any  of  the  armies. 
There  were  haggard-looking  men  at  the  rough 
tables  covered  with  maps  and  documents.     Halting 
cheechas  went  to  and  fro  as  messengers,  and  here 
and  there  in  dark  places  orderlies  cleaned  much- 
bespattered  gaiters  or  burnished  dull  swords  and 
rusty  pistols.     Of  course  nowhere  that  I  stuck  my 
head  was  I  wanted  but  at  the  simple  remark, 
"Engleske  mission,"  all  my  imbecility  seemed  cov- 
ered by  a  cloak,  or  at  least  explained  to  them;  so 
much  so  that  I  decided  to  use  it  instead  of  "Ameri- 
canske"  in  future,  and  continued  to  wander  a  bit. 
They  were  faced  with  awful  things,  this  General 
Staff  who  dined  from  tin-cans  and  slept  on  hay,  but 
in  some  manner  they  seemed  to  be  getting  their 
work  done. 

It  was  now  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  as  Mr. 
Stone  and  I  had  breakfasted  early  on  a  handful  of 
corn-bread  and  some  cognac,  we  followed  Mrs.  Sto- 
bart  with  what  may  be  described  as  the  keenest 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      251 

pleasure  back  of  the  general  staff  building,  where 
the  flying  corps  were  serenely  encamped  in  a  side 
street.  We  had  dined  the  previous  evening,  after 
that  blizzard  march,  on  a  bit  of  cheese,  some  tinned 
meat,  and  hard  tack,  and  before  that  we  had  dis- 
pensed with  lunch,  and  still  before  that  had  break- 
fasted on  tea  and  biscuits,  and  before  that  a  back- 
ward vista  of  tinned  mutton  and  sweet  biscuit  too 
long  and  monotonous  to  be  recounted  in  one  modest 
volume.  Hence  when  we  saw  the  Austrian  gou- 
lash Kanone  that  the  flying  corps  had  acquired 
steaming  in  the  midst  of  the  automobiles,  we  looked 
upon  the  world  and  saw  that  it  was  good.  We  had 
coffee  and  cheese  and  cocoa  and  rice  and  nearly 
white  bread  and  a  hearty  welcome  from  the  corps. 
Greatly  did  I  fortify  myself,  for  I  saw  no  chance 
of  anything  more  until  I  should  arrive  at  Mitro- 
vitze  next  day. 

In  mid-afternoon  the  long-expected  ambulance 
arrived,  much  the  worse  for  the  wear  of  the  road. 
By  this  time  the  traffic  had  completely  destroyed 
all  effects  of  any  road-building  that  had  ever  been 
done  on  the  Plain  of  Kossovo.  The  rest  of  the  day 
I  spent  fitting  on  new  tires,  plenty  of  which  the  fly- 
ing corps  let  me  have,  and  overhauling  the  car  in 
general. 


252      WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

An  English  clergyman,  Mr.  Rogers,  had  come 
over  on  the  ambulance  from  Mitrovitze,  but  was 
determined  to  go  back  with  me,  there  to  remain 
with  the  women  doctors  and  nurses  who  were  stay- 
ing behind  with  the  wounded  sister.  In  all  likeli- 
hood this  meant  his  internment  until  the  end  of  the 
war,  whereas  there  was  a  good  chance  for  the  women 
who  stayed  being  allowed  to  return  home.  Also, 
there  appeared  to  be  no  great  necessity  of  his  re- 
maining; but  he  knew  and  I  knew  that  it  would 
make  the  women  feel  a  little  more  protected.  It 
seemed  to  me  an  act  thoroughly  in  character  with 
the  best  sort  of  Englishman,  and  the  kind  I  had  al- 
ways expected  from  them,  though  after  what  I  had 
seen  of  British  men  in  Serbia,  it  came  as  a  distinct 
surprise  to  me.  I  was  indeed  glad  to  have  him  as  a 
companion  for  the  return  trip  to  Mitrovitze  the 
next  day. 

That  night  I  discovered  a  hay-loft  belonging  to 
a  jolly  old  Turk  who  would  not  let  me  set  foot  in 
his  harem,  but  assured  me  of  an  unlimited  welcome 
to  his  hay.  The  mercury  dropped  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  zero  as  night  came  on,  and  it  was  a  great 
comfort  to  be  able  to  burrow  into  the  very  center 
of  a  great  stack  of  warm  hay,  a  fine  improvement  on 
my  cart  of  the  previous  night. 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      253 

About  five  next  morning  I  rolled  out  of  my  nest, 
and  spent  an  hour  in  violent  contortions  incident 
to  cranking  the  frozen  motor  before  daylight.  Mr. 
Rogers  had  some  dry  bread,  which  we  ate,  and 
then  we  started  on  our  return  journey. 

On  the  top  of  a  hill  outside  the  town  we  came  to 
four  large  guns  standing  beside  the  road,  and  be- 
yond, in  a  muddy  grain-field,  we  saw  a  little  group 
of  tents. 

"It  must  be  some  of  Admiral  Troubridge's  men," 
said  Rogers.  "I  should  like  to  stop  and  speak  to 
them  a  minute." 

"All  right,"  I  replied.     "I  '11  sit  in  the  car." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  came  back  and  asked  me  if 
I  would  like  a  cup  of  hot  coffee,  real  coffee.  Would 
I!  We  wallowed  through  the  field  to  the  tents, 
where  we  found  a  cheecha  broiling  meat  over  a 
camp-fire,  and  between  times  watching  a  large  ket- 
tle of  porridge  and  the  coffee-pot.  We  entered  the 
largest  of  the  tents,  which  we  found  warm  and  dry, 
hay  a  foot  deep  on  the  ground,  and  braziers  of  coals 
making  everything  comfortable.  I  think  there 
were  eighteen  or  twenty  men  lying  about,  and  a 
more  cheerful,  hospitable  crowd  could  not  be  found 
anywhere.  We  had  excellent  jams,  coffee,  tea, 
rice,  and  beef  for  breakfast,  and  they  made  Rogers 


254     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

bring  away  some  potatoes  and  beans  to  help  out  his 
provisions  at  Mitrovitze.  These  things  had  mostly 
been  sent  out  from  home  before  the  trouble  began. 

More  than  half  of  the  men  looked  scarcely  older 
than  boys.  I  remember  one  "mother's  boy"  who 
did  not  look  eighteen,  with  his  innocent  blue  eyes, 
curly  hair,  and  cheeks  as  fresh  as  a  baby's.  But 
they  had  all  seen  hard  enough  service,  having  been 
unrelieved  at  Belgrade  since  the  preceding  March. 
They  gleefully  related  to  me  how  they  had  got  into 
Serbia. 

They  left  England  on  a  battle-ship  which  took 
them  to  Malta.  There  they  disembarked,  and  their 
uniforms  were  taken  from  them,  but  each  was  given 
a  suit  of  citizen's  clothes.  They  assured  me  that 
these  were  the  worst  clothes  that  anybody  ever  had 
to  wear  for  the  sake  of  his  country.  Rigged  out  in 
this  ludicrous  raiment, — the  Government  had  seen 
no  necessity  of  taking  their  measures, — they 
boarded  a  passenger-boat,  and  came  to  Saloniki  as 
"commercial  travelers."  They  were  allowed  little 
time  to  ply  their  trade,  however,  for  a  train  was 
waiting  to  whisk  them  across  the  Serbian  border, 
where  they  resumed  their  real  character. 

These  marines  represented  all  that  England  did 
toward  the  actual  defense  of  Serbia  until  the  last 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      255 

attack.  There  were  eight  guns  stationed  in  and 
around  Belgrade,  and  a  forty-five-foot  steam- 
launch  that  had  been  ingeniously  fitted  with  tor- 
pedo-tubes. In  the  first  encounter  that  this  heavy 
craft  had  with  the  enemy,  it  attacked  two  Austrian 
monitors,  sinking  one  and  forcing  the  other  to  re- 
turn to  Semlin,  where  afterward  it  succeeded  in 
keeping  such  dangerous  boats  bottled  up.  The 
work  of  their  guns,  they  said,  had  been  greatly 
hampered  by  the  activity  of  Austro-German  aero- 
planes. These  immediately  spied  out  any  position 
they  would  take,  and  directed  the  enemy's  fire  ac- 
cordingly. In  Belgrade  and  throughout  the  re- 
treat the  French  aviators  appeared  either  unable  or 
unwilling  to  give  any  protection  against  scouting 
and  bomb-throwing.  The  opinions  which  those 
marines  expressed  would,  to  say  the  least,  have 
shocked  the  boulevards. 

In  expressing  freely  adverse  opinions  about  their 
allies,  the  marines  were  no  exception  to  other  Brit- 
ish soldiers  with  whom  I  came  in  contact.  My  ex- 
perience among  British  military  men  has  not  been 
wide,  but  within  its  narrow  scope  I  never  heard  one 
of  them  say  a  good  word  for  anybody  except  the 
Germans.  It  seems  to  be  an  axiom  among  them, 
a  tradition  from  which  there  is  no  appeal,  this  in- 


256     WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

significance  of  all  but  the  British  and  of  the  enemy 
that  has  taught  them  many  things.  I  heard  very 
little  mention  of  German  atrocities  in  Serbia,  but 
generous  praise  from  British  men  and  officers  of 
German  efficiency  and  bravery.  These  marines 
despised  the  Serbian  soldiers,  spat  on  the  Italians, 
tolerated  the  French.  I  am  not  sure  they  knew 
Russia  was  fighting. 

"What  do  you  think?"  one  of  the  older  of  them 
said  to  me.  "These  Serb  boys  don't  get  anything 
for  serving!  Now,  is  n't  that  calculated  to. make  a 
man  fight  with  a  good  heart,  not  getting  a  penny, 
and  knowing  that  his  wife  or  mother  won't  get  any- 
thing! Are  n't  they  a  fine  lot,  now?" 

This  man  was  a  fine  fellow,  and,  I  am  sure,  as 
unselfish  and  brave  a  soldier  as  England  has,  al- 
though he  would  be  horrified  if  you  told  him  so. 
His  own  solid,  well-ordered,  comfortable  system 
represented  to  him  all  that  could  possibly  be  good 
in  the  world.  Of  the  indefinable,  even  mystic,  mo- 
tive force  which  drove  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
ignorant  Serbian  peasants,  in  a  fight  that  from  the 
first  was  hopeless,  to  face  separation  from  every- 
thing which  human  beings  prize,  and  to  endure  tor- 
tures the  like  of  which  armies  have  seldom  known 
in  order  that  those  who  did  not  die  might  return  to 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      257 

renew  the  holy  war,  of  a  very  practical  patriotism 
for  a  very  beautiful  and  ideal  cause,  he  knew  noth- 
ing. If  you  had  asked  him  why  he  was  fighting, 
he  would  have  told  you  because  it  was  his  business, 
and  to  his  business,  whatever  it  may  be,  he  has  a  de- 
votion that  makes  him  one  of  the  most  formidable 
of  enemies.  Government  says  fight,  and  ages  of 
experience  have  taught  him  that  Government 
usually  has  something  worth  while  up  its  sleeve 
when  it  says  fight ;  so,  volunteer  or  regular,  he  fights 
with  bravery  and  abandon.  It  seems  to  me  that 
the  average  British  soldier  follows  his  Government 
with  an  implicit  faith  surpassed  only  by  the  Ger- 
mans. 

The  difference  in  this  war  lies  in  the  wide  gulf 

i 

that  separates  the  somewhat  less  dangerous  desires 
of  the  one  Government  from  the  altogether  dan- 
gerous and  abominable  ambitions  of  the  other. 
The  soldiers  of  both  nations  follow  without  very 
much  thought  as  to  the  real  objects  at  stake.  But 
most  French  know  pretty  well  why  they  are  fight- 
ing, and  you  can  be  assured  the  average  Serb  knows 
why.  Whether  you  believe  in  the  Serb's  ambitions 
or  not,  you  instantly  see  that  he  believes  in  them, 
worships  them,  dies  for  them  with  a  gladness  that 
takes  little  account  of  self  or  family.  It  would  be 


258       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

utterly  impossible  for  a  Serbian  statesman  to  hold 
his  nation  at  bay  while  he  wrote  half  a  dozen  notes 
on  such  a  thing  as  the  Lusitania,  no  matter  how  big 
the  offender.  If  it  meant  sure  defeat,  they  would 
still  jump  in  and  fight  for  their  liberty  until  utterly 
exhausted.  They  can  not  help  it;  they  are  built 
that  way.  They  may  or  may  not  be  too  extreme  in 
this.  It  is  well  for  Americans,  who  can  sit  calmly 
and  weigh  the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of 
fighting  no  matter  what  is  involved,  to  realize  that 
such  peoples  do  exist. 

Of  course,  in  trying  to  make  even  the  slightest 
analysis  of  the  feelings  of  various  armies,  one  is 
treading  a  path  hopelessly  confused  by  numerous 
exceptions;  but,  after  all,  there  is  a  common  type 
which  can  be  more  or  less  sharply  defined.  I  sim- 
ply wish  to  state  the  impression,  perhaps  entirely 
erroneous,  which  the  British  soldiers  I  saw,  and  the 
Serbian  soldiers  I  lived  with,  made  on  me. 

As  Mr.  Rogers  and  I  breakfasted,  they  told  us 
of  their  work  at  Belgrade  and  their  retreat.  Near 
Nish  they  had  lost  two  of  their  guns.  These  had 
become  bogged  on  a  mountain-side,  and  the  enemy 
was  so  close  behind  that  there  was  no  time  to  dig 
them  out,  but  only  to  blow  them  up  and  hurry  away. 
There  were  four  guns  with  them  at  Prishtina,  but 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      259 

ammunition  was  running  low.  "Only  fifty  rounds 
left,"  one  told  us,  "but  fifteen  of  them  are  1915 
lyddite,  and,  I  tell  you,  sir,  when  you  name  it,  take 
off  your  hat,  for  you  're  in  the  presence  of  your 
Maker!" 

The  next  morning — for  I  returned  that  way  next 
day — I  stopped  to  leave  some  medicine  which  Mr. 
Rogers  had  sent  them,  and  had  breakfast  with  them 
once  more.  This  was  the  last  I  saw  of  them  until 
three  weeks  later,  when  we  again  met  on  the  bleak, 
wind-swept  pier  at  Plavnitze,  where  we  waited  to 
take  the  tiny  boat  across  the  lake  to  Scutari. 

No  one  would  have  recognized  them.  For  two 
weeks  they  had  been  crossing  the  mountains. 
Their  own  stores  having  been  exhausted,  they  had 
had  to  live  as  the  Serbian  soldiers  had  been  living  for 
at  least  ten  weeks.  It  was  an  interesting  compari- 
son in  endurance.  Under  regular  conditions  all  of 
these  men  would  have  been  pitched  into  an  ambu- 
lance and  taken  to  a  base  hospital.  One  week 
more,  and  most  of  them  would  surely  have  died. 
Their  spirit  was  splendid.  One  staggered  up  to 
me, — he  of  the  lyddite  worship, — and  when  I  in- 
quired how  he  felt,  said  he  was  all  right,  and  even 
had  something  to  be  thankful  for.  His  gun  was 
the  only  one  that  had  not  been  destroyed.  They 


260       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

had  dug  a  hole  and  buried  it  intact !  His  devotion 
to  that  gun  was  as  sincere  a  thing  as  I  ever  saw. 
Hardly  had  he  finished  speaking  when  he  fainted 
before  my  eyes  from  exhaustion  and  starvation. 
Several  of  his  comrades  also  had  to  be  carried  on  to 
the  boat. 

When  finally  we  returned  to  our  car  and  took  the 
road  again,  we  encountered  a  difficulty  which  was 
entirely  unforeseen.  Bottomless  mud-holes,  deep 
ruts,  impossible  hill-climbs  I  expected  as  a  matter 
of  course,  but  I  had  not  exactly  realized  what  it 
meant  to  go  against  the  tide  of  refugees  even  yet 
pouring  toward  Prishtina,  to  be  the  only  persons  in 
the  country  going  toward  the  invader.  The  am- 
bulance explained  us  to  some  in  the  incredulous 
mass  we  passed,  but  many  there  were  who,  seeing 
we  were  foreigners,  and  concluding  we  had  lost  our 
way,  made  frenzied  gestures  indicating  the  folly  of 
our  course.  Some  of  them  would  not  be  deterred 
from  their  well-meant  warnings,  but,  placing  them- 
selves in  our  path,  forced  us  to  stop  and  listen  to 
their  harangues,  which  we  could  not  understand. 
As  we  drew  away  from  Prishtina,  however,  the 
refugees  thinned,  and  before  we  came  to  Mitrovitze 
we  had  seen  the  last  of  these  hordes. 

Around  Mitrovitze  itself  there  were  great  camps 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      261 

of  army-transports,  which  were  delaying  to  the  last 
minute  and  never  got  away.  When  we  came  into 
the  town  we  found  its  aspect  much  changed.  All 
traces  of  the  mad  riot  in  which  I  had  seen  the  Ad- 
miral and  the  Colonel  were  gone.  The  dirty,  prim- 
itive streets  were  empty  and  silent ;  where  had  been 
terror  and  panic,  was  only  ominous  solitude. 
Nearly  every  house  was  tightly  shut,  boards  hav- 
ing been  nailed  over  the  windows  of  many  of  them. 
Only  soldiers  were  to  be  seen,  and  now  and  then  a 
leisurely  Turk  waddling  by.  Around  the  casern  a 
large  number  of  soldiers  were  bringing  field-guns 
into  position,  and  also  about  the  hospital,  not  far 
away,  air-craft-defense  guns  were  being  set  up. 
Feebly  armed,  Mitrovitze  awaited  her  inevitable 
fate. 

My  mission  was  in  vain.  The  unfortunate  nurse 
could  not  be  moved  again  in  any  circumstances. 
She  had  already  been  completely  exhausted  by 
thirty-six  hours  of  continuous  journey  in  a  spring- 
less  cart  over  roads  so  rough  that  the  automobile 
was  thought  worse  than  the  primitive  cart. 
Imagine  making  a  trip  like  this  when  one  had  been 
shot  through  both  lungs  and  the  temperature  is 
about  zero.  Think  of  being  put  down  in  an  over- 
crowded military  hospital,  with  cannon  guarding 


262       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

it  from  bombs  and  with  the  enemy  expected  any 
hour.  Picture  having  to  lie  there  day  after  day 
listening  to  the  guns  without  and  the  moaning  of 
the  wounded  within,  deprived  of  proper  food.  Can 
you  conceive  of  a  mere  girl  living  through  such  an 
experience?  Yet  I  understand  that  she  has  re- 
covered. Needless  to  say,  she  is  a  British  woman. 
It  was  decided  that  I  should  return  to  Dr.  May, 
whom  I  would  find  at  Prizrend,  with  the  ambulance, 
taking  letters,  and,  if  possible,  come  back  to  Mitro- 
vitze  with  whatever  provisions  could  be  spared  by 
the  unit.  The  food  situation  at  Mitrovitze  was 
serious.  This  plan  meant  a  race  against  time. 
The  Germans  were  right  on  the  town,  and  would 
certainly  come  in  after  two  or  three  days.  I  would 
have  to  return  before  they  took  the  place  or  I  could 
not  get  in.  Although  my  bargain  with  Dr.  May 
in  return  for  the  care  of  the  three  British  nurses 
placed  me  unconditionally  at  the  orders  of  her  doc- 
tors at  Mitrovitze,  they  kindly  put  the  matter  up  to 
me  as  to  whether  I  cared  to  return  to  Mitrovitze. 
No  one  could  have  been  anything  but  glad  to  be 
of  the  slightest  service  to  these  women  who  were 
cheerfully  remaining  behind  with  their  wounded 
companion.  However,  the  question  was  arbitra- 
rily settled  for  me  within  forty-eight  hours. 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      263 

A  well-known  army  surgeon,  an  Austro-Serb, 
who  had  been  attending  the  wounded  girl  was  to 
accompany  me  to  Prizrend.  In  all  probability, 
capture  for  him  meant  summary  execution,  and 
while  he  was  loath  to  go,  the  others  insisted  that  it 
was  a  useless  sacrifice  for  him  to  remain.  There 
were  other  physicians  who  could  care  for  the  pa- 
tient. This  doctor  was  a  man  of  broad  education, 
unusual  culture,  and  polished  manner.  He  spoke 
five  or  six  languages,  and,  besides  being  a  physician 
of  high  rank,  was  a  delightful  conversationalist  on 
almost  any  subject.  He  was  a  man  who  had  a  com- 
prehensive, intelligent,  sympathetic  view  of  inter- 
national questions,  a  fine  product  of  the  best  in 
civilization.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  the  United 
States  seems  rarely  to  get  as  an  ambassador  any- 
where. All  that  kept  him  from  being  marched  out 
into  a  corn-field  and  shot  like  a  dog  was  a  few  kilo- 
meters of  road.  He  had  left  the  land  of  his  birth, 
and  had  gone  to  the  land  of  his  choice  to  join  him- 
self to  the  people  whose  nature  corresponded  to  his 
own;  for  this  he  would  be  shot.  His  case  is  a 
glimpse  at  the  under  side  of  Balkan  politics.  The 
method  which  without  doubt  would  be  applied  to 
him  if  he  were  caught  has  been  applied  unnum- 
bered times  perhaps  by  all  the  Balkan  countries, 


264       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

but  certainly  on  a  greater  and  more  heartless  scale 
by  Austria.  It  is  logical  and  simple.  It  is  the 
only  way  to  hold  together  polyglot  empires  made 
up  of  unwilling  remnants  that  have  been  torn  from 
peoples  burning  for  that  illusive  thing  called  na- 
tionality. 

The  correct  definition  and  establishment  of  this 
nationality  seems  to  me  to  be  the  greatest  question 
in  the  world  to-day.  It  can  never  be  based  on 
racial  differences,  because  the  blood  strains  are 
hopelessly  mixed;  nor  on  language  boundaries,  be- 
cause people  who  could  not  possibly  live  together 
frequently  speak  the  same  tongue ;  nor  on  religious 
differences,  because  peoples  of  the  same  faith  vary 
widely  in  location,  temperament,  and  progress; 
nor  on  topography,  because  such  "natural  barriers" 
mean  less  and  less  as  communication  is  perfected; 
nor  on  the  previous  ownership  of  territory,  for 
whereas  one  nation  may  be  the  possessor  to-day, 
another  was  the  day  before:  on  the  preference  of 
the  people  concerned,  and  on  that  alone,  will  any 
sort  of  satisfactory  scheme  ever  be  built  up,  di- 
rected, of  course,  and  modified  somewhat  by  essen- 
tial economic  considerations.  When  this  principle 
is  followed,  Austria  will  find  herself  no  longer 
forced  to  hang  whole  villages,  and  shoot  and  burn 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      265 

and  terrorize  as  in  Bosnia  since  1878  she  has  had 
to  do,  because  Bosnia  will  no  more  be  Austrian. 
However,  several  million  pages  may  still  be  writ- 
ten about  this  matter  without  exhausting  its  dif- 
ficulties, and  mine  is  not  the  story  of  things  as  they 
might  be,  but  of  things  as  they  were  in  Serbia  dur- 
ing the  ten  weeks  it  took  to  make  her  once  more  a 
part  of  the  polyglot  system. 

This  interesting  doctor,  whose  name  I  do  not  feel 
free  to  mention,  and  I  started  from  Mitrovitze  in 
the  freezing  dawn  of  the  day  following  the  after- 
noon on  which  I  had  arrived.  We  faced  a  chilling 
wind  as  we  descended  to  the  bleak  and  now  empty 
Plain  of  Kossovo.  It  had  been  only  three  days 
since  I  had  taken  the  same  road,  but  how  different 
now!  Ragged  patches  of  snow  still  spotted  the 
earth,  souvenirs  of  the  blizzard,  but  where  was  the 
creaking  procession  that  had  suffered  so  that  day? 
The  question  came  to  mind,  and  with  it  a  picture 
of  them  as  they  must  be,  still  floundering  some- 
where farther  along  the  road.  Their  trail  had  been 
left  there  on  the  desolate  plateau,  written  in  a 
waste  of  debris  and  objects  too  repulsive  for 
description.  What  had  been  a  country,  was  now 
a  desert,  strewn  with  unburied  people  and  ani- 
mals, in  which  there  was  no  food,  no  drink,  no  eco- 


266       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

nomic  life,  no  trace  of  happiness.  The  whole  world 
suggested  a  feeling  of  suspense,  a  waiting  for  some- 
thing unknown,  such  as  one  feels  in  a  theater  when 
the  warning  bell  has  rung. 

The  road  had  dried  somewhat,  so  we  went  along 
with  less  difficulty.  We  came  within  view  of 
Prishtina  about  ten  o'clock,  but  it  was  one  before 
we  had  traversed  the  town.  This  delay  was  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  huge  kommorras  about  the  place 
were  all  breaking  up,  and  the  narrow  streets  were 
literally  deluged  with  ox-carts.  New  York  traffic 
policemen  could  not  have  handled  that  mass,  and 
there  was  no  guiding  hand.  The  result  was  a  jam 
so  inextricable  that  for  two  days  many  carts  in  the 
town  did  not  move  at  all.  People  camped  under 
their  chariots,  and  the  oxen  lay  down  by  their 
yokes.  At  last  we  found  a  way  that  skirted  the 
town  and  which,  because  it  was  nothing  but  a  marsh, 
was  less  crowded  than  the  central  streets.  The 
liquid  mud  came  up  into  my  motor  when  we  ran 
along  the  shallowest  part,  a  narrow  strip  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  roadway;  on  each  hand  was  mire  that 
would  have  swallowed  the  machine  whole,  as  some 
ox-carts  that  had  strayed  there  only  too  plainly 
told  us.  Luck  and  that  marvelous  little  engine 
were  with  us,  and  just  at  lunch-time  we  came  in 


A  group  of  transport  drivers 


What  had  been  a  country  was  now  a  desert 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      269 

sight  of  the  Stobart  "flying  corps,"  camped  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  town.  I  was  surprised  to  see 
them  still  in  Prishtina,  but  also  delighted,  for  it 
meant  some  sort  of  lunch. 

We  were  welcomed,  fed,  and  again  took  the  road, 
but  with  an  addition  to  the  party.  In  case  the 
Germans  took  Mitrovitze  before  I  returned  from 
Prizrend,  I,  of  course,  would  not  come  back.  In 
this  contingency  Mrs.  Stobart  wished  the  ambu- 
lance with  her  corps,  though  I  was  at  a  loss  to  see 
why,  for  it  was  then  most  obvious  that  everything 
had  gone  to  smash,  and  nothing  was  left  but  for  the 
units  to  get  out  as  best  they  could.  However,  she 
asked  to  send  a  Serbian  chauffeur,  Peter,  along  with 
us  to  bring  back  the  car  in  case  I  should  not  need  it. 

Peter  was  a  typical  Serbian  chauffeur;  when  I 
have  said  that  I  have  said  the  worst  thing  I  can. 
About  fifteen  kilometers  out  was  the  most  threat- 
ened spot  in  the  whole  route.  For  a  short  time  the 
Bulgarians  had  succeeded  in  taking  the  road  here, 
but  had  been  driven  back  again,  and  the  line  was 
then  three  or  four  kilometers  east  of  the  road,  the 
ground  between  being  almost  level  farmlands. 
Here  the  Serbians  had  temporarily  intrenched 
themselves,  and  were  endeavoring  to  hold  the  enemy 
back  from  the  road  as  long  as  possible.  Farther 


270        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

on,  the  road  drew  away  from  the  battle-line,  and  in 
the  rear,  Prishtina  was  not  as  yet  threatened.  It 
was  simply  this  small  salient  which  was  in  immedi- 
ate danger,  and,  as  it  happened,  here  the  road  was 
not  at  all  bad.  It  was  level  and  smooth,  and  wide 
enough  to  enable  us  to  run  past  the  trains  of  mili- 
tary transports,  hospitals,  and  artillery  that  were 
hastening  to  get  past  this  danger-point.  For  some 
inscrutable  reason  a  deep  hole  had  been  dug  on  our 
side  of  the  road,  a  pit  perhaps  five  feet  deep,  four 
feet  long,  and  three  wide,  running  lengthwise  with 
the  road.  We  were  going  fast,  the  hole  was  plainly 
to  be  seen,  and  there  was  ample  room  to  right  and 
left  of  it,  but  Peter,  with  splendid  nonchalance, 
preferred  to  take  it  straight  ahead,  on  the  jump. 
The  front  wheels  hit  the  farther  edge,  bringing  us 
to  quite  the  quickest  stop,  with  the  exception  of 
one  that  was  to  follow  a  few  hours  later,  which  I 
have  ever  made. 

When  we  picked  ourselves  off  the  floor  of  the  car, 
we  found  our  Ford  with  its  nose  in  the  ground  and 
its  heels  in  the  air,  like  a  terrier  digging  for  a  chip- 
munk, a  position  never  dignified  for  an  automobile 
and  particularly  out  of  place,  it  seemed  to  me,  just 
four  kilometers  behind  a  very  fickle  battle-line. 
Peter  crawled  out  first,  remarking  casually  in  very 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      271 

bad  German,  his  only  language  besides  Serbian, 
that  he  did  not  know  what  in  heaven  was  the  mat- 
ter with  the  steering-gear.  Whatever  may  have 
been  its  previous  state  and  condition,  that  impor- 
tant feature  of  an  automobile's  anatomy  was  cer- 
tainly "on  the  blink"  now.  Yet  nothing  other  than 
the  triangle  was  injured  in  the  slightest.  I  really 
never  wrote  an  advertisement  in  my  life,  and  shall 
not  begin  now,  but  when  a  car  can  stand  up  against 
Peter's  idea  of  sport  with  nothing  except  the  tri- 
angle injured  (which  was  not  made  at  Detroit,  but 
in  a  Serbian  shop),  it  deserves  honorable  mention 
in  the  despatches,  and  a  new  triangle. 

The  moment  I  looked  at  those  tortured,  twisted 
rods,  I  knew  that  we  would  never  be  able  to 
straighten  them  so  that  they  could  be  induced  to 
fit  again.  But  the  optimistic  Peter  did  not  share 
my  views,  and  was  confident  we  could  straighten 
them  in  a  jiffy.  It  was  then  about  three  o'clock, 
the  sun  was  nearing  the  horizon  in  a  perfectly  clear 
sky,  and  the  temperature  was  not  far  above  zero. 
In  passing,  it  may  be  said  that  every  account  I 
have  ever  seen  of  the  Balkans  in  winter  lays  fre- 
quent and  eloquent  stress  on  the  peculiarly  pene- 
trating cold.  One  writer  who  had  endured  the  un- 
believable temperatures  of  Siberia,  said  that  he  had 


272       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

never  felt  anything  like  this  damp,  searching,  con- 
gealing chill,  which  nothing  seems  thick  or  warm 
enough  to  shut  out.  They  do  not  exaggerate;  the 
Balkan  cold  cannot  be  overstated.  I  tried  my  best 
in  stern  Anglo-Saxon  to  do  it  while  I  wrenched  and 
hammered  and  squeezed  with  gloveless  hands  the 
frozen  steel,  but  it  was  hopeless.  Nothing  I  could 
think  of  to  say  even  approached  an  adequate  ex- 
pression of  that  cold.  A  good  part  of  my  conver- 
sation on  the  weather  was  really  meant  for  Peter, 
but  he  was  none  the  wiser.  Yet  even  at  this  stage 
I  had  not  lost  my  temper.  I  was  sorry  afterward 
that  I  had  not ;  it  left  me  with  so  much  reserve  force 
a  little  later  when  I  really  did  blow  up. 

I  was  holding  the  misused  triangle  as  firmly  as 
it  is  possible  for  numb  blue  hands  to  do  while  Peter 
attempted  inexpertly  to  smooth  out  the  numerous 
spots  where  the  rods  had  buckled.  My  appearance 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  Gipsy.  I  was  ragged, 
covered  with  mud,  and  my  coat,  which  a  tall  Eng- 
lishman had  given  me  at  Prishtina  to  replace  the 
one  torn  by  the  ox,  was  yards  too  long  for  me.  It 
flapped  sadly  about  my  knees  in  the  biting  wind. 
As  I  bent  over  the  iron  rod,  my  face  was  hidden  by 
a  tattered  felt  hat.  So  intent  was  I  on  the  work 
that  I  did  not  see  a  major  ride  up  and  dismount. 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      273 

He  was  a  smart  officer,  whose  glory,  however,  had 
been  somewhat  tarnished  by  sleeping  in  haystacks 
and  pigstys.  This  also  had  not  improved  his  tem- 
per. From  the  demeanor  of  his  attendants  it  was 
plain  that  he  was  a  dreaded  man.  What  he  saw 
was  an  ambulance  in  trouble,  with  the  doctor  in 
spotless  uniform  standing  beside  it  and  a  fairly 
decent-looking  Serbian  soldier  hammering  on  some 
steel  rods  which  were  being  infirmly  held  by  a  non- 
descript beggar  evidently  requisitioned  for  the  job. 
It  was  not  any  of  his  business,  but,  oh,  cursed  spite ! 
he  was  the  sort  born  to  set  all  things  right. 

I  first  became  aware  of  stentorian  tones  shouting 
what  I  recognized  as  the  vilest  Serbian  epithets. 
The  voice  threatened  instant  annihilation,  and 
looking  up  in  astonishment,  I  saw  his  gestures 
threatened  likewise.  I  was  not  holding  the  rod  to 
suit  him.  My  feet  were  ice,  my  ears  were  ice,  my 
nose  was  ice,  my  hands  aching,  skinned,  covered  with 
frozen  blood,  all  because  of  an  idiotic  chauffeur  who 
had  run  us  into  a  hole  and  insisted  on  trying  a  job  I 
knew  to  be  hopeless,  and  now — this  specimen! 
You  know  the  sensation — all  your  injured  feelings, 
acquired  and  inherited,  coming  suddenly  to  a  head 
in  the  sublime  detestation  of  one  person.  With  ex- 
quisite relief  I  turned  on  him  a  torrent  of  abuse,  an 


274       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

orgy  of  anger,  saying  everything  that  as  a  little 
boy  I  could  remember  I  had  been  taught  not  to  say. 
Still,  what  I  said  to  him  did  not  equal  what  he  had 
said  to  me ;  nothing  can  equal  Serbian  oaths  in  vile- 
ness.  But  the  next  minute  I  was  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  myself.  The  troop  had  stood  petrified 
when  I  had  shouted  at  him.  They  could  not  believe 
their  ears,  but  when  he  heard  my  English  and  saw 
my  face,  he  slumped  completely.  I  never  saw  a 
deeper  humiliation.  Of  all  things,  the  Serbs  avoid 
most  even  the  appearance  of  impoliteness  to 
foreigners,  especially  neutrals  engaged  in  relief- 
work.  The  major's  mistake,  not  my  retaliation, 
crushed  him.  Sputtering  some  sort  of  broken 
apology,  he  meekly  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
away,  leaving  me  quite  as  conscience-stricken  as  he. 
After  wasting  three  precious  hours,  Peter  came 
to  my  way  of  thinking  and  agreed  to  follow  out  an 
arrangement  which  I  had  suggested  some  time  be- 
fore, and  which  was  made  more  reasonable  when  a 
military  hospital  came  by  and  took  the  doctor  with 
most  of  his  luggage  along  with  them.  Peter  was 
to  walk  back  to  Prishtina,  secure  a  new  triangle 
from  the  flying  corps'  supplies,  and  return  early 
next  morning.  We  would  then  fix  the  car,  pick  up 
the  doctor  at  the  next  town,  where  he  said  the  hos- 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      275 

pital  would  camp,  and  go  on  our  way.  I  was  to 
stay  with  the  disabled  ambulance  in  the  meantime. 

Soon  I  was  left  alone,  with  half  a  pound  of  black 
bread  for  dinner  and  only  one  blanket  for  covering. 
The  bare  fields  round  about  afforded  no  material 
for  a  fire.  My  three  heavy  blankets  had  been  stolen 
from  the  car  on  the  previous  day,  leaving  me  in  a 
bad  situation.  Woolen  blankets  were  getting  to 
be  worth  a  great  deal,  for  it  was  impossible  to  buy 
them.  Fortunately,  the  English  unit  had  evacu- 
ated with  a  plentiful  supply,  from  which  I  was  later 
refurnished.  It  was  ridiculous  that  a  person's  life 
should  depend  upon  two  or  three  blankets,  and  yet 
this  was  virtually  the  case  at  that  time. 

This  night,  after  closing  as  tightly  as  I  could  all 
the  curtains  of  the  ambulance,  I  lay  down  in  the 
place  designed  for  stretchers,  with  my  piece  of 
bread  and  my  blanket.  It  was  not  warm  there,  but 
after  my  night  in  the  cart  at  Prishtina,  it  did  not 
seem  so  bad.  Of  course  it  would  have  been  much 
better  to  have  spent  the  night  tramping  about  to 
keep  up  circulation,  but  fatigue  made  this  almost 
impossible.  So  I  lay  and  shivered,  watching  the 
blue  moonlight  through  the  rents  in  the  curtains. 

The  noisy  traffic  on  the  road  had  ceased.  The 
tired  men  and  oxen  had  long  since  turned  from  the 


276       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

melancholy  road  to  desolate  camps,  those  behind 
thinking  that  on  the  morrow  they  would  pass  the 
danger-point,  those  ahead  feeling  a  sense  of  com- 
parative security  because  it  was  passed.  But  I 
thought  I  heard  more  distinctly  than  formerly  the 
rapid-fire  guns  and  rifles  crackling  across  the  fields. 
It  seemed  to  me  the  firing  was  freshening,  but  I 
was  too  tired  to  think  about  it  very  much  and  dozed 
for  a  time.  I  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  an 
automobile  rushing  by  at  full  speed,  with  the  cut- 
out wide  open.  Then  began  a  stream  of  cars  tear- 
ing past,  which,  crawling  from  my  shelter,  I  recog- 
nized as  the  motors  of  the  General  Staff.  Prishtina 
was  being  evacuated  at  midnight  and  seemingly  in 
something  of  a  hurry.  Furthermore,  beyond  the 
cornfields  things  were  unmistakably  getting  more 
lively. 

I  was  not  left  long  in  doubt  as  to  what  was  hap- 
pening. A  large  touring-car  slowed  up  as  it  ap- 
proached me,  and  from  the  running-board  a  figure 
sprang  which  I  recognized  as  Peter  carrying  the 
coveted  triangle.  The  automobile  had  not  stopped 
completely,  but  shot  away  again  without  losing  a 
minute.  In  German,  Peter  announced  that  Prish- 
tina was  being  evacuated,  that  the  Serbs  expected 
to  retreat  across  the  road,  and  that  we  had  three 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      277 

hours  in  which  to  repair  the  car  and  get  away. 
"We  must  work  very  quickly,  very  quickly,"  he 
remarked,  and  in  true  Serb  fashion  therewith  put 
down  his  burden,  seated  himself  on  the  running- 
board,  leisurely  pulled  out  a  package  of  tobacco, 
then  cigarette-papers,  carefully  made  a  beautiful 
cigarette,  hunted  listlessly  through  each  of  his 
many  pockets,  and  at  last  asked  me  for  a  match. 
When  I  handed  it  to  him  from  under  the  car  where 
I  had  scuttled  at  his  first  words,  he  lighted  the 
cigarette,  and  began  smoking,  rapturously  drawing 
in  the  fumes  as  if  he  were  passing  a  dull  hour  gaz- 
ing out  of  a  club  window.  Nor  did  my  heated  re- 
marks move  him  to  hasten.  Lying  there  in  the 
freezing  mire,  hammering  my  fingers  in  the  dark- 
ness, I  hated  him  almost  as  I  had  hated  the  major. 
The  fighting  came  closer.  We  could  now  spot  in  a 
general  way  the  position  of  the  machine-guns  as 
they  sputtered,  and  the  rifle-fire  became  a  host  of 
separate  sounds,  like  raindrops  falling,  rather  than 
the  conglomerate  cracking  we  had  heard  before. 
A  triangle  is  a  troublesome  thing  for  two  inexpert 
men  to  put  in  at  any  time;  now  it  seemed  as  if  it 
would  never  be  made  to  fit.  We  had  no  light,  and 
under  the  chassis  it  was  almost  pitch-dark  despite 
the  placid  arctic  moon  that  sailed  overhead.  I  did 


278       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

not  know  I  had  so  many  fingers  to  smash,  I  did  not 
know  lying  in  freezing  mud  could  be  so  uncomfort- 
able, I  did  not  know  that  there  ever  lived  so  big  a 
fool  as  Peter  seemed  to  be.  While  the  sounds  of 
battle  drifted  over  the  moonlit,  frosted  fields,  I  lay 
under  the  car  and  battered  away,  thinking  of  the 
hot  summer  days  in  Long  Island  City,  where  I  had 
seen  the  operation  I  was  trying  to  perform  done  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  How  simple!  how  easy! 
and  now  how — hellish! 

Two  hours  and  a  half  went  by,  in  which  we  got 
the  rounded  knob  at  the  apex  of  the  triangle  almost 
fitted  into  its  socket;  but  it  would  not  slip  in, 
despite  innumerable  manipulations  with  levers, 
jacks,  and  hammers,  and  turning  of  wheels  and 
straining  the  front  axle.  Then  four  soldiers  came 
by  whom  Peter  persuaded  to  help  us,  and  with 
the  combined  strength  of  these  the  job  finally  was 
done.  We  had  fifteen  minutes  left  of  the  pre- 
scribed time.  Slightly  wounded  soldiers  were 
straggling  back  from  the  trenches.  We  had  only 
to  put  back  several  important  screws,  that  was  all; 
but  Peter  discovered  he  had  lost  two  of  them.  We 
had  no  extra  ones,  and  the  chance  of  finding  them 
in  that  trampled  mud  by  moonlight  was  nil.  For 
the  first  time  Peter  swore;  and  it  was  not  at  high 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      279 

heaven  or  me  or  the  Bulgarians  or  even  himself ;  it 
was  at  the  two  screws  for  letting  him  lose  them.  I 
could  not  help  but  laugh,  and  we  stuck  in  some  wire, 
hoping  it  would  hold. 

The  four  soldiers  who  had  helped  us  Peter  now 
insisted  would  be  much  offended  if  we  did  not  give 
them  a  lift.  I  objected  that  it  would  overload  our 
tires,  which  I  knew  were  weak,  but  he  finally  gained 
his  point.  I  also  hated  to  ride  away  from  them 
when  they  had  aided  us.  At  last,  just  on  the  three- 
hour  limit,  we  started.  Within  half  a  mile  one  of 
the  tires  blew  out.  I  then  ordered  the  soldiers  to 
get  out  and  Peter  to  drive  on  with  the  flat  tire. 
This  he  did,  for  the  battle  was  rolling  on  behind  us 
and  the  camps  along  the  road  were  breaking  up  in 
the  wildest  confusion,  the  tired  oxen  being  forced 
once  more  to  take  the  road.  The  countryside  now 
became  lighted  with  dozens  of  fires,  where  the  re- 
treating soldiers  burned  haystacks,  granaries,  and 
supplies  which  they  could  not  take.  Now  and  then 
a  peasant  cottage  would  break  into  flames,  and  the 
farm  stock  ran  about. 

In  an  hour  we  came  to  the  town  the  doctor  had 
spoken  of.  Our  inquiries  failed  to  bring  any  in- 
formation as  to  the  whereabouts  of  him  or  the  hospi- 
tal. I  told  Peter  we  would  spend  an  hour  search- 


280       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

ing  for  him,  and  that,  while  he  did  this,  I  would  put 
on  a  new  tire.  The  arrangement  appealed  to  him, 
but  at  the  end  of  the  hour  the  only  information  we 
had  was  from  the  commandant,  who  said  the  doctor 
could  not  be  found,  and  that  he  would  doubtless  go 
on  with  the  hospital  to  Prizrend.  So  we  started  on 
without  him.  Our  lamps  were  out  of  commission, 
but  for  two  hours  the  moon  afforded  quite  enough 
light,  even  though  we  had  to  run  along  the  left, 
boggy  fringe  of  the  road  because  of  the  ox-cart 
trains.  The  ox-drivers  were  worse  humored  that 
night  than  I  had  ever  seen  them.  To  our  con- 
stant horn  and  cry  of  "Desno!  desnof  ("To  the 
right") ,  they  paid  no  attention  whatever,  purposely 
sticking  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  leaving  not 
enough  room  to  pass  on  either  side,  and  forcing  us 
to  accommodate  our  pace  to  theirs.  We  were  con- 
tinually running  on  first  speed  on  account  of  this 
and  the  heavy  roads,  and  water  boiled  out  of  our 
radiator  in  a  very  short  time.  Then  I  would  de- 
scend, break  the  two-inch  ice  on  the  stream-filled 
ditches  along  the  way  and  fill  up  with  the  freezing 
water,  which  instantly  gave  the  tortured  motor  re- 
lief for  the  moment. 

Once  when  the  drivers  were  particularly  irritat- 
ing about  not  giving  the  road,  Peter  descended,  like 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      281 

the  wrath  of  heaven,  and  beat  one  of  them  soundly 
with  a  stick,  screaming  hair-raising  threats  mean- 
while. After  this  we  fared  somewhat  better,  for 
the  news  passed  along  that  line  far  faster  than  we 
could  travel.  Once  we  were  stopped  by  an  old  sol- 
dier who  could  hardly  drag  himself  along.  He  was 
wounded  in  the  leg  and  was  faint  from  loss  of 
blood.  He  asked  a  ride,  and  we  put  him  in  the 
ambulance,  where  now  and  then  he  moaned  a  little. 
Peter  had  brought  me  some  bread,  which  I  had  not 
eaten,  and  it  occurred  to  me  this  old  fellow  might 
be  hungry.  I  do  not  believe  he  had  had  anything 
to  eat  for  days.  He  seemed  considerably  "bucked 
up"  afterward,  and  when  we  had  to  stop  because  of 
darkness,  during  the  brief  period  between  moonset 
and  daylight,  he  left  us,  hobbling  away  we  knew  not 
where. 

At  dawn  I  took  the  wheel,  and  almost  at  once  we 
came  up  with  what  I  always  refer  to  as  the  "long 
kommorra"  It  was  where  the  road  leaves  the 
plain  and  begins  in  gradual*  tortuous  ascents  to 
wriggle  up  a  narrow  gorge.  Of  necessity  the  way 
is  narrow,  too,  cut  out  of  the  canon's  side,  with  an 
unspeakable  surface.  There  is  no  balustrade  on 
the  outer  edge;  only  the  crumbling  brink,  unsafe 
for  any  heavy  weight.  This  stretch  is  between 


282        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

twenty  and  thirty  kilometers  long,  and  without  a 
single  gap  the  whole  was  clogged  with  trains  of 
carts.  A  more  harrowing  fifteen  or  twenty  miles 
I  hope  never  to  drive.  Even  when  the  carts 
crowded  against  the  inside  bank,  there  was  no  room 
safely  to  avoid  the  dangerous  edge.  But  seldom 
could  my  hoarse  shouts  of  "Desno!  desnof  re- 
peated unceasingly,  persuade  the  drivers  to  go  so 
dose  in,  and  so  the  car  had  to  run  on  the  narrowest 
margin — a  margin  that  in  some  instances  I  could 
distinctly  feel  give  beneath  me.  Peter  slept 
through  it  all,  loudly  snoring  in  the  back  of  the  am- 
bulance. 

At  last  it  ended  in  a  steep  ascent  on  which  I 
passed  the  head  of  the  procession,  and  climbed  on  a 
road  that  had  now  become  very  good  to  the  top  of 
the  range.  I  had  not  realized  we  had  climbed  so 
high.  In  the  morning  sunlight  I  looked  over  a 
tremendous  expanse  of  hill  ranges  and  thickly 
wooded  valleys,  now  brown  and  gold  and  blue  with 
the  tints  of  late  autumn.  Down  the  side  of  the 
mountain  on  which  I  was  the  road  ran  in  endless 
leaps  and  turns  on  a  regular,  but  steep,  grade,  nar- 
row, but  with  a  perfect  surface,  as  smooth  as  glass. 
I  could  see  it  gleam  for  miles  and  miles  ahead  until 
it  was  lost  in  the  valley,  only  to  rise  again  on  the 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      283 

farther  side,  and  lead  over  the  next  crest.  Not  that 
I  stopped  to  take  in  this  picture.  It  flashed  on  me 
in  the  brief  time  in  which  I  glimpsed  it  as,  with 
power  shut  off,  I  glided  on  top  of  the  divide.  I  had 
shut  off  my  power  so  as  to  begin  the  downward  run 
as  slowly  as  possible,  for  long  before  I  had  received 
the  ambulance  all  the  brakes  had  been  worn  out. 
Also,  the  reverse  was  gone,  and  the  first  speed  so 
worn  that  I  dared  not  use  it  as  a  brake.  Up  to 
that  time  this  lack  had  inconvenienced  me  little,  but 
as  I  looked  at  the  long  coast  ahead,  I  knew  that  I 
should  have  to  do  better  driving  than  I  had  ever 
done  before  if  I  got  to  the  bottom.  Of  course  I 
had  virtually  had  no  sleep  for  two  days  and  nothing 
to  eat  except  a  little  bread  for  twenty-four  hours 
and  was  fagged  with  the  train  of  misfortunes  that 
had  followed  us,  and  especially  with  the  drive  just 
ended.  I  was  really  in  a  sort  of  coma,  which  kept 
me  from  realizing  what  driving  that  stretch  without 
any  brakes  meant.  Peter  was  still  snoring. 

In  two  minutes  we  were  going  like  an  express- 
train,  in  three  twice  as  fast,  for  we  had  hit  the  steep- 
est grade,  and  at  its  bottom  was  a  short  turn  to  the 
right,  almost  a  switchback.  It  was  there  that 
JPeter  got  the  joke  on  me.  I  did  not  drive  that 
"nirve ;  it  drove  itself.  What  I  did  was  reflex.  All 


284       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

that  I  know  is  that,  when  headed  like  a  cannon-ball 
for  the  five-hundred-foot  precipice,  I  waited  until 
the  road  turned  and  then  swung  the  wheel  for  all  I 
was  worth.  I  am  confident  that  all  four  wheels  left 
the  earth;  but  we  had  made  the  curve,  only  to  see 
another,  sharp  to  the  left,  right  ahead.  Before  I 
even  realized  there  was  another  turn,  we  had  gone 
straight  ahead  into  a  deep,  muddy  ditch,  and  the 
front  wheels  and  radiator  face  were  buried  in  a  soft 
clay  bank.  It  was  a  quicker  stop  than  Peter  had 
given  us,  and  a  more  violent  one.  It  threw  Peter 
over  my  shoulder  upon  the  radiator,  and  woke  him 
up.  I  was  whirled  into  the  middle  of  the  road. 
Neither  was  hurt,  and  we  set  to  work  inspecting  the 
wreck.  But  there  was  no  wreck.  As  I  said  before, 
I  do  not  write  advertisements,  but  when  a  car  can 
stand  up  against  Peter's  and  my  ideas  of  sport,  it 
does  deserve  honorable  mention  in  the  despatches. 
Nothing  was  injured  except  the  triangle;  that  was 
buckled  as  before.  Now  by  the  deep  contempt 
with  which  Peter  looked  at  me,  I  realized  how  much 
he  must  have  despised  himself  for  running  into  that 
hole. 

I  looked  over  the  car,  and  saw  that  the  rod  was 
bent  in  only  one  place,  and  could  be  straightened 
with  patience.  I  was  sure  it  would  take  a  long 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      287 

time,  however,  and  I  was  afraid  that  Dr.  May 
would  leave  Prizrend  next  morning.  So  when  I 
was  told  it  was  only  a  five-hour  walk  to  Prizrend,  I 
took  a  small  bag  on  my  back,  gave  Peter  two  na- 
poleons to  salve  his  feelings  and  hire  helpers,  and 
pushed  on  alone. 

It  had  been  the  unit's  intention  to  go  to  Monastir 
by  way  of  Albania  from  Prizrend.  Once  at  Mon- 
astir, they  could  take  the  railway  to  Saloniki.  This 
trip  would  require  six  or  seven  days  on  horseback. 
The  road  had  long  been  cut  by  the  Bulgarians,  but 
of  course  I  did  not  know  this.  There  were  two  al- 
ternative routes.  Either  they  could  go  by  horse- 
trails  through  Albania  to  Scutari,  or  they  could  go 
north  by  cart  to  Ipek,  and  from  there  cut  across 
Montenegro  by  horse-trail  to  Androvitze,  where  a 
wagon-road  led  to  Scutari  via  Podgoritze  and  Scu- 
tari Lake.  When  I  set  out  to  walk  to  Prizrend,  I 
knew  none  of  this.  I  only  knew  that  they  intended 
going  to  Monastir,  and  that,  if  they  left  Prizrend 
before  I  arrived,  I  could  not  overtake  them;  and 
although  the  road  back  to  Mitrovitze  had  been  cut 
so  that  I  could  not  hope  to  return  there,  I  still 
wished  to  deliver  the  letters  to  Dr.  May.  I  was 
right  in  my  supposition  that  they  would  be  leaving 
next  morning,  for  we  did  actually  all  leave  to- 


288        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

gather  then,  though  it  was  by  the  route  to  Ipek. 

I  had  been  told  that  it  was  five  hours  to  Prizrend. 
I  began  walking  at  eight  o'clock,  and  at  one  I  was 
told  it  was  three  hours  to  Prizrend.  By  this  time 
I  was  completely  fagged,  mainly  on  account  of 
sleep  and  hunger.  At  two  I  descended  the  last 
range  of  hills  and  began  crossing  a  plain,  dimly  on 
the  farther  limit  of  which  I  saw  for  the  first  time 
the  savage  heights  of  the  Albanian  Alps.  I  could 
not  see  any  sign  of  Prizrend,  and  could  walk  only 
about  half  as  fast  as  formerly.  I  was  thirsty,  and 
left  the  road  a  minute  to  get  a  drink  at  a  clear  moun- 
tain stream.  While  standing  on  the  bank,  I  heard 
a  motor  and,  looking  up,  saw  Peter  flying  by  in  the 
ambulance.  If  only  I  had  been  on  the  road!  I 
resumed  my  march  with  many  refugees,  who  were 
growing  much  more  in  evidence.  Luck  at  last  fa- 
vored me,  for  I  soon  spied  the  ambulance  standing 
in  the  road,  and,  hurrying,  I  came  up  just  as  Peter, 
with  two  soldier  comrades,  was  ready  to  set  off. 
In  the  distance  Prizrend  showed  indistinctly, 
crammed  right  against  the  mountains. 

In  fifteen  minutes  we  could  see  the  surly  old 
fortress  on  the  hill  above  Prizrend,  and  soon  neared 
the  outskirts  of  the  town.  As  I  looked  out,  I  had 


BEHIND  THE  LIVING  WAVE      289 

a  curious  sensation  of  being  among  familiar  sur- 
roundings. It  puzzled  me  a  minute,  and  then  I 
knew  it  was  the  refugees.  We  were  in  the  thick  of 
them  again.  By  the  tens  of  thousands  they 
swarmed  around  Prizrend,  ants  in  an  ant-hill,  bees 
in  a  hive,  flies  about  a  carcass.  We  were  sub- 
merged in  them,  buffeted,  hindered,  stopped,  amal- 
gamated with  them.  Swirling  with  them  into  the 
narrow  maw  of  Prizrend,  we  became  a  part  of  them 
again.  The  old  life  had  begun  once  more  —  the 
life  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  led  a  thousand  years  in- 
stead of  a  few  short  weeks,  the  astounding,  restless, 
tragic  life  of  the  living  wave. 


CHAPTER  IX 

PRIZREND 

ABOUT  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  I  ar- 
rived at  Prizrend,  and  at  four  next  morn- 
ing I  left  it.  It  was  not  a  long  stay,  but  quite 
long  enough  to  leave  an  indelible  picture  with  me. 
The  life  of  the  retreat  was  always  crammed  full 
of  incident,  rich  in  striking  or  colorful  detail,  a 
pageant  that  day  and  night  rolled  over  Serbia  cost- 
ing thousands  and  thousands  of  lives  and  a  nation's 
existence.  To  have  marched  with  it  was  to  see  the 
most  savage  face  of  life  and  to  become  the  familiar 
of  death.  To  look  back  on  it  is  to  feel  its  dream-like 
quality  seemingly  extending  over  years  and  years. 
To  write  about  it  is  to  contend  with  a  bewildering 
maze  of  narrative  threads,  the  brightest  of  which  it 
is  not  easy  to  choose;  but  Prizrend,  in  the  sunset 
half -hour  that  I  saw  it  and  in  the  misty  dawn  as  I 
left  it,  certainly  deserves  to  be  picked  out  of  the 
tangle. 

I  came  there  trailing  the  refugee  masses,  just 
ahead  of  the  battle-storm,  dangerously  late.     All 

290 


PRIZREND  291 

three  Serbian  armies  were  converging  on  the  Al- 
banian and  Montenegrin  frontier  between  Prizrend 
and  Ipek,  some  of  them  planning  to  take  the  route 
across  Albania  to  Scutari,  the  rest  to  go  through 
Montenegro  by  way  of  Ipek,  Androvitze,  and  Pod- 
goritze  to  Scutari.  The  road  to  Monastir,  as  we 
learned  at  once,  had  been  cut ;  the  General  Staff  had 
already  announced  the  evacuation  of  Prizrend,  and 
were  preparing  to  go  to  Scutari  by  the  Albanian 
route. 

In  time  of  peace  Prizrend  numbers  about  fifteen 
or  twenty  thousand  inhabitants.  It  lies  on  the  edge 
of  a  broad  valley  so  close  to  the  mountains  that  a 
good  half  of  it  clambers  up  a  steep  slope  for  hun- 
dreds of  feet,  and  ends  in  the  huge  gray  fortress 
which  gives  an  appearance  strangely  reminiscent 
of  Naples  around  San  Martino.  At  the  foot  of 
this  slope,  through  the  center  of  the  town,  runs  a 
swift  mountain  river,  the  quays  on  each  side  being 
lined  with  the  spacious  harems  of  the  wealthier 
Turks.  Farther  up-stream  these  quays  become 
grassy  banks,  and  instead  of  old  houses,  are  deep 
groves  of  sycamores.  Where  the  main  street 
strikes  the  river  is  an  ancient  stone  bridge  that  con- 
sists of  one  incredibly  long  arch  springing  from 
massive  piles  of  masonry  on  each  side. 


292       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

When  we  came  to  the  bridge,  Peter  and  I  were 
at  a  loss  to  know  where  to  turn,  when  we  spied  one 
of  the  English  nurses  in  the  crowd.  She  had  seen 
us,  and  was  soon  guiding  us  by  a  precarious  road 
along  the  river-bank  to  a  filthy  alley  a  little  way  up 
which  was  the  house  which  the  ever-watchful  Dr. 

v 

Curcin  had  succeeded  in  getting  for  the  mission.  I 
was  met  with  the  news  that  the  unit  was  leaving  for 
Ipek  the  following  morning.  Dr.  May  was  happy 
to  get  what  slight  good  news  I  could  bring  of  the 
wounded  girl — they  had  expected  her  to  die — and 
as  all  question  of  sending  back  the  ambulance  was 
settled,  kindly  invited  me  to  travel  along  as  one  of 
the  unit.  This  I  was  happy  to  do,  and  am  frank 
to  say  that  at  this  late  date  I  do  not  know  what  I 
should  have  done  otherwise;  for  although  I  had 
gold,  food  was  not  for  sale.  I  made  the  journey  as 
far  as  Rome  with  the  unit,  and  can  never  forget 
the  kindness  shown  me  without  exception  by  all  the 
nurses  and  doctors. 

Soon  after  I  arrived  I  met  Admiral  Troubridge 
again.  He  seemed  worried;  as  near  it,  that  is  to 
say,  as  I  ever  saw  him.  Major  Elliott  had  been 
sent  with  fifty  marines  to  go  out  by  way  of  Mon- 
astir,  and  soon  after  he  left  the  Admiral  had  got  in- 
formation that  the  road  had  been  cut  by  the  Bui- 


PRIZREND  293 

garian  forces.  Since  then  he  had  had  no  word  from 
his  men;  so  whether  they  were  captured  or  not  he 
did  not  know.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  succeeded 
in  getting  out  shortly  before  the  enemy  came.  To 
add  to  the  uncomfortable  situation,  Colonel  Phil- 
lips had  fallen  ill,  and  was  in  no  condition  to  make 
the  trip  across  Albania  to  Scutari.  What  caused 
the  Admiral  most  anxiety,  however,  was  the  condi- 
tion of  the  prisoners  at  Prizrend.  He  said  that  the 
English  women  must  be  got  out  of  the  town  as  soon 
as  possible,  next  day  at  the  latest.  The  Serbs  had 
about  fifty  thousand  prisoners  in  the  old  fortress, 
with  insufficient  guards,  and  more  were  coming  in 
all  the  time.  There  was  no  food  for  them,  and  they 
were  going  mad  with  starvation.  What  he  feared 
was  that  they  would  overpower  their  guards  and 
deluge  the  town,  looting,  murdering,  and  burning. 
As  he  talked,  I  got  a  vivid  picture  of  what  fifty 
thousand  haggard,  ragged,  freezing,  starving  men 
would  do  if  turned  loose  in  that  place.  I  believe 
with  him  that  this  could  easily  have  happened,  for 
there  were  very  many  more  prisoners  than  soldiers 
in  the  place,  and  with  the  wild  confusion  that  pre- 
vailed they  would  meet  with  little  organized  resist- 
ance. Affairs  certainly  bore  no  pleasant  aspect. 
The  phenomenally  good  behavior  of  the  prisoners 


294       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

of  war  will  always  remain  something  of  a  mystery 
to  me. 

Beside  the  tremendous  number  of  prisoners, 
there  were  more  refugees  gathered  at  Prizrend  than 
at  any  other  place  during  the  retreat.  At  last  the 
stream,  which  had  arisen  in  the  north  along  the  Save 
and  the  Danube  and  in  the  east  along  the  Bulgarian 
frontier,  and  which  had  inundated  the  entire  nation 
for  two  months,  was  dammed.  The  dam  stretched 
away  to  north  and  south  in  a  wild,  beautiful  tangle 
of  shining  peaks.  When  the  refugees  looked  at 
the  mountains  ahead  and  heard  the  guns  behind, 
they  realized  finally  that  Serbia  was  lost,  aban- 
doned to  three  strong  invaders,  betrayed  by  three 
strong  allies.  This  was  the  general  sentiment.  I 
heard  it  continually  from  civilians,  soldiers,  officers, 
and  government  officials.  "Why  did  not  Russia 
come?  Where  are  the  French?  Has  England 
forgotten  us?"  These  questions  were  so  common 
as  to  become  a  sort  of  national  threnody. 

When  I  came,  there  were  at  least  eighty  thou- 
sand refugees  here,  with  perhaps  ten  thousand  more 
to  come  ahead  of  the  moving  armies.  These 
hordes,  combined  with  the  fifty  thousand  prisoners, 
overwhelmed  the  little  city.  There  was  no  food  to 
be  had  for  the  masses.  The  Government  was  faced 


PRIZREND  295 

with  three  starving  armies  beside  the  one  hundred 
and  thirty  thousand  civilians  and  prisoners.  In  all 
that  crowd  I  am  sure  not  one  had  enough  to  eat,  and 
thousands  were  facing  actual  starvation — thou- 
sands of  women  and  children  without  any  food, 
without  any  shelter  at  the  close  of  November,  and 
in  the  town  congestion  so  great  that  contagious 
diseases  were  only  a  question  of  days. 

I  find  myself  wondering  what  Prizrend  is  like 
to-day.  The  refugees  had  to  remain  there.  To 
cross  the  mountains  was  an  impossibility  for  fami- 
lies of  women  and  children  without  food.  After 
two  months  of  untold  hardship,  at  last  they  had  to 
sit  here  and  starve  until  the  enemy  came,  only  hop- 
ing that  he  might  bring  food.  If  he  was  unable 
to  do  so,  Prizrend  is  indescribable  now.  It  is  about 
fifty  kilometers  from  the  railway,  and  in  winter 
the  road  is  terrible.  Only  by  ox-cart  can  food  be 
brought  in,  and  the  armies  operating  in  Albania 
must  be  provisioned.  It  was  not  a  bright  outlook 
for  the  refugees. 

The  streets  of  Prizrend  are  precipitous  and  tor- 
tuous, and  down  their  whole  length,  from  houses 
on  each  side,  old  grape-vines  hang  in  graceful  fes- 
toons, which  in  summer  must  cast  the  town  in  deli- 
cious shade.  Now  of  course  there  was  no  foliage, 


296       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

only  the  serpentine  stems  under  the  forlorn  net- 
work of  which  unnumbered  thousands  of  starving, 
homeless  peasants  fought  their  way  about,  filling 
the  streets  with  an  unending  stream  day  and  night 
that  crushed  against  the  houses  and  swirled  in  rest- 
less pools  around  each  dirty  square.  The  red  and 
white  fezzes  and  gorgeous  bloomers  of  the  Turks; 
the  Albanians,  with  their  white  skull-caps  and  great 
flaming  sashes;  the  tall  Montenegrins,  with  their 
gay  jackets  and  tiny  round  hats;  the  people  of  the 
Sanjak,  with  glaring,  pirate-like  turbans;  the  Ser- 
bian peasant  women,  with  their  vari-colored,  bril- 
liant stockings,  multiform  opariki,  exquisitely  em- 
broidered short  skirts  and  jackets,  and  bright 
head-dresses;  the  Serbian  men  in  their  brown  and 
black  homespun  trousers,  tight  as  to  leg,  volumi- 
nous as  to  seat;  French  majors  and  colonels  and 
captains  in  dress  uniform;  English  and  Serbian 
officers  tarnished  and  business-like;  gendarmes  in 
bright  blue,  with  gold  lace  and  braid;  the  royal 
guard,  with  red  breeches  and  sky-blue  tunics;  the 
bluish  gray  of  the  Austrian  prisoners ;  the  grayish 
green  of  the  Bulgarians,  the  greenish  yellow  of  the 
Serbian  soldiers — all  flowed  in  barbaric  masses  of 
color  through  the  streets  of  Prizrend,  like  Prishtina, 
but  on  a  larger  and  more  varied  scale.  Such  street- 


PRIZREND  297 

scenes  were  one  of  the  most  remarkable  aspects  of 
an  invasion  unique  in  many  ways.  In  no  other 
circumstances  could  one  ever  see  such  a  conglomera- 
tion of  races  in  a  setting  that  is  still  medieval. 

Up  these  streets  in  the  dusk,  playing  havoc  with 
the  crowds,  luxurious  French  limousines,  shining 
American  touring-cars,  huge  snorting  motor-lorries 
nosed  their  way.  The  life  of  a  whole  nation  had 
suddenly  burst  upon  Prizrend,  and  everything  was 
confused,  turned  topsy-turvy,  business  destroyed, 
and  shops  closed  because,  if  opened,  they  were 
wrecked  by  the  crush  of  too  eager  customers.  Only 
the  life  of  the  harems  moved  on.  The  world  might 
go  to  smash,  but  the  Turk  had  his  larders  full,  his 
money  in  gold,  his  own  philosophy,  and  alone  he 
walked  the  streets  unperturbed. 

As  night  drew  on,  I  stood  in  a  little  niche  of  the 
old  bridge's  balustrade.  Lights  were  sprinkling 
the  heights  around  the  dark  fortress,  and  the 
river's  surface  below  was  spread  with  ruddy  and 
golden  reflections  from  the  latticed  windows  along 
the  quays.  There  was  the  usual  heterogeneous 
clamor  of  great  crowds.  Soldiers  came  toward  the 
bridge  shouting  in  Serbian  and  pushing  a  way 
through  the  throng.  I  was  pushed  hard  against  the 
wall  as  they  opened  a  way  before  them.  They  were 


298       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

followed  by  some  dim  figures.  A  hush  came  over 
us.  As  the  party  came  within  the  circle  of  light 
opposite  me,  I  recognized  for  an  instant  the  thin, 
keen  features  of  King  Peter.  It  was  a  curious  set- 
ting for  a  king,  and  brought  to  mind  a  fleeting 
memory  of  the  German  emperor  reviewing  his  in- 
comparable army  on  the  plain  near  Mainz  in  1913, 
a  wonderful  illustration,  I  thought,  of  cause  and 
effect.  The  crowd  began  to  heave  and  squirm 
again,  restless  as  before. 

I  had  never  happened  to  see  the  King  before,  but 
of  course  had  heard  and  read  the  many  wild  con- 
flicting tales  about  his  checkered  life — whispers  of 
a  young  man's  Bohemian  existence  in  Paris  around 
the  Cafe  du  Helder  before  he  dreamed  of  being  a 
king;  stories  of  a  care-free  life  at  Geneva  not  un- 
mixed with  plots ;  descriptions  of  him  as  an  almost 
penurious,  threadbare  man  in  Petrograd,  choosing 
the  less-frequented  streets  to  bring  his  children  to 
and  from  their  royal  school,  where  royal  favor  per- 
mitted them  to  go.  These  I  remembered  now,  and 
wondered  if  he,  too,  were  not  lost  in  memories  of 
beloved  Paris,  or  feeling  again  the  sweet  breeze 
that  on  summer  evenings  sweeps  in  from  Lake 
Leman,  or  walking  with  the  young  princes  along 
the  quiet  streets  of  Petrograd.  Certainly  his  ex- 


PRIZREND  299 

pression  was  one  of  brooding,  and  well  it  might  be, 
for  this  was  his  last  day  on  the  soil  of  his  kingdom. 
The  following  morning  he  plunged  into  Albania, 
and  before  reaching  Scutari  had  to  be  carried  on  the 
backs  of  his  soldiers. 

Not  one  tenth  of  the  refugees  could  get  shelter 
in  the  town.  Broad  camps  stretched  about  the 
place,  rilling  the  numerous  Turkish  cemeteries.  A 
Turkish  cemetery  is  the  most  desolate  thing  in  the 
world.  They  plant  their  dead — and  how  innumer- 
able their  dead  seem ! — on  any  barren  space  that  lies 
near  at  hand,  for  they  always  live  in  the  midst  of 
their  departed.  They  stick  up  rough-hewn  slabs 
of  stone,  which  seem  never  to  fall  completely,  but 
only  to  sag  from  the  perpendicular,  adding  much  to 
the  chaotic  ensemble.  Then  they  seem  promptly 
to  forget  the  graves  forever.  In  space  of  time 
these  sink,  leaving  depressions  which,  when  the 
wind  is  right,  are  partly  sheltered  by  the  grave- 
stones. Filled  with  hay,  they  are  not  bad  couches 
— for  a  refugee.  Now  all  about  Prizrend  in  the 
November  dusk  camp-fires  burned  brightly  amid 
the  tipsy  gravestones,  and  hundreds  of  inert  forms 
were  stretched  beside  them  on  the  grave.  A  weird 
sight,  those  living  cities  of  the  dead,  but  only  in 
retrospection  strange.  For  there  is  a  point  which 


300       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

people  sometimes  reach  when  nothing  is  strange 
but  peace  and  happiness,  and  nothing  natural  but 
the  instinct  to  exist.  Prizrend's  self-invited  guests 
had  reached  it. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ARMY  THAT   CANNOT  DIE 

IN  that  future  for  which  all  Europe  hopes,  when 
stability  and  peace  shall  have  come  to  the  Bal- 
kans, Serbia  will  doubtless  become  a  tourist's 
playground  such  as  is  the  Midi  or  Switzerland. 
Then  the  road  from  Prizrend  to  Ipek  will  be  as 
famous  as  the  Corniche  Road  or  the  Briinig  Pass. 
It  winds  along  broad,  fertile  valleys,  skirting  the 
northern  Albanian  Alps.  There  are  old  and  very 
beautiful  arched  stone  bridges,  carrying  it  across 
canons  of  savage  magnificence.  The  finest  of  these 
is  the  thin  half -circle  of  masonry  that  marks  the 
border  between  Montenegro  and  Serbia.  At 
Jakova  it  breaks  into  narrow  Eastern  streets  full 
of  the  yet  unspoiled  glamour  of  the  Orient,  and 
winds  about  the  crumbling  Turkish  fortifications 
that  loom  upon  the  grassy  plain  like  the  battlements 
of  Aigues-Mortes.  Then  it  dips  into  the  foot-hills, 
and  leads  after  a  time  to  the  mouth  of  a  deep  and 
narrow  valley  two  kilometers  up  which,  surrounded 
by  crag-tipped  heights  and  dark  forests  of  pines, 

301 


302        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

is  a  large  monastery  with  a  fourteenth-century 
church,  the  interior  of  which  is  still  covered  with 
unrestored  frescos  of  the  period.  Its  final  stage 
is  straight  over  another  plain  to  Ipek,  lying  at  the 
foot  of  roadless  mountains.  The  peaks  that  over- 
shadow it  are  majestic  as  few  mountains  are,  but  to 
us  who  as  refugees  came  that  way,  they  spelled  only 
hardship,  and  the  road  itself  was  very  bad. 

If  we  had  known  at  Mitrovitze  that  the  way  to 
Monastir  was  cut,  we  should  not  have  gone  to  Priz- 
rend  at  all,  but  should  have  gone  directly  from 
Mitrovitze  to  Ipek,  a  distance  of  only  twenty-five 
kilometers.  As  it  was,  the  march  to  Prizrend  had 
required  four  days,  and  now,  reversing  our  direc- 
tion, the  march  from  there  to  Ipek  would  require 
two  more,  although  on  ordinary  roads,  in  an  auto- 
mobile, it  could  be  done  in  two  hours.  Thus  five 
days'  unnecessary  march  were  made  in  describing 
the  two  legs  of  a  triangle,  the  base  of  which  lay  on 
the  line  between  Mitrovitze  and  Ipek.  Having 
come  to  Prizrend,  however,  we  chose  the  Ipek  route 
to  Scutari  rather  than  the  one  across  Albania,  be- 
cause the  latter  had  been  rendered  exceedingly  un- 
safe by  the  wild  native  tribesmen,  who  were  rising 
everywhere  and  attacking  all  parties  not  strong 
enough  to  offer  formidable  resistance.  Had  the 


(c)  Underwood  &  Underwood 

King  Peter  of  Serbia 


Prizrend  from  the  river  bank 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     305 

refugees  at  Prizrend  wished  to  do  so,  they  could 
have  made  the  additional  two  days'  march  to  Ipek, 
but  comparatively  few  of  them  did.  Having  been 
driven  to  a  realization  of  the  hopelessness  of  their 
situation,  they  decided  that  it  was  just  as  well  to 
starve  at  Prizrend  as  farther  along. 

The  total  absence  of  news  or  reliable  information 
of  any  sort,  which  had  brought  us  so  far  out  of  our 
way,  was  one  of  the  striking  things  of  the  retreat. 
Even  the  army  was  for  the  most  part  ignorant  of 
what  was  taking  place  at  other  points,  so  great  was 
the  problem  of  communication  in  the  general  con- 
fusion. There  was  a  field  wireless  or  two  which  did 
good  work  interrupting  German  messages,  and 
couriers  were  riding  this  way  and  that,  but  the 
rumors  which  came  to  the  masses  were  of  the  wild- 
est character  and  always  of  rosy  burden — a  half 
million  Russians  through  Rumania,  a  quarter  mil- 
lion troops  of  the  Allies  from  Saloniki,  and  the  rail- 
way freed  again.  We  heard  that  Germany  was 
withdrawing  her  troops  to  protect  her  borders  from 
the  French,  who  had  driven  them  beyond  the 
Rhine.  No  one  believed  these  stories;  all  repeated 
them  with  additions. 

Always  one  moved  blindly  with  the  throng,  itself 
a  blind  leader,  knowing  nothing  for  certain  except 


306       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  never-ceasing  guns  behind.  The  fortunate 
people  who  came  out  early  met  little  of  this  chaos, 
and,  arriving  at  Prizrend,  made  the  journey  to 
Monastir  before  the  cold  set  in,  if  not  in  comfort, 
at  least  with  a  fair  degree  of  safety.  The  members 
of  the  American  Sanitary  Commission  were  able 
to  do  this,  as  well  as  a  good  many  Russian  and 
French  nurses.  Most  of  the  English  sisters  ar- 
rived too  late,  and  made  the  trip  to  Scutari  either 
through  Albania  or  Montenegro.  Those  who  came 
out  late  saw  the  real  retreat.  The  far  more  for- 
tunate earlier  ones  heard  only  the  distant  rum- 
blings. 

Early  in  a  foggy  dawn  we  passed  through  the 
streets  of  Prizrend,  still  crowded  with  the  abnormal 
life  that  all  night  had  not  ceased  to  stir,  and  got  out 
upon  the  road  among  those  dreary  graveyards,  now 
turned  into  huge  bivouacs.  Just  outside  the  town 
two  automobiles  passed  us  filled  with  queer,  furry 
creatures  who  were  hardly  recognizable  as  men. 
Hung  all  over  the  cars  were  rucksacks,  bales,  and 
bags,  all  tightly  stuffed  and  quite  obviously  in- 
tended to  be  transported  on  pack-horses.  Each 
figure  carried  a  rifle,  which  made  him  look  like  a 
trained  bear  in  a  circus.  Cheery  French  chatter 
came  to  our  ears  as  they  passed,  and,  inquiring,  we 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     307 

learned  that  they  were  a  party  of  aviators  and  me- 
chanics starting  on  the  Albanian  road  to  Scutari. 
They  would  be  able  to  go  only  a  few  kilometers  in 
the  cars,  which  they  would  then  burn  and  take  to 
pack-horses.  The  entire  party  would  number 
about  fifty,  all  well  armed.  I  found  myself  wish- 
ing to  be  with  them. 

The  march  to  Jakova  was  one  of  the  longest  we 
ever  made  in  a  single  day.  Part  of  the  caravan, 
indeed,  did  not  go  all  of  the  way,  but  camped  by 
the  roadside  and  came  on  the  next  morning.  It 
was  a  beautiful  day,  full  of  sunshine,  and  cold 
enough  to  make  walking  a  pleasure.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem,  tramping  was  really  becoming  pleas- 
ant to  many  of  the  nurses.  They  were  now  experts 
at  it.  They  had  learned  the  steady  gait  that  does 
not  tire,  and  they  found  the  deep  sleep  that  is 
bought  only  by  long  hours  of  hard  exercise.  The 
sparkling  air  and  savage  mountains  delighted  them, 
and  the  knowledge  that  they  were  playing  a  part  in 
the  wildest  drama  even  these  old,  romantic  lands 
had  ever  known  added  much  to  their  pleasure.  So 
the  hunger  and  cold  and  exhaustion,  even  the  mul- 
tiple tragedies  around  them  were,  to  a  degree,  com- 
pensated for.  "I  should  love  to  tramp  forever 
and  ever,"  they  would  say  after  a  cold  night  in  the 


308       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

open,  when  the  warming  dawn  brought  a  nameless 
delight  just  because  it  was  dawn  and  warm.  We 
know  they  are  heroines,  but  they  would  say  they 
were  merely  happy  tramps.  Not  only  was  the 
march  to  Jakova  one  of  the  finest  because  of  the 
mountains  that  always  watched  over  us,  but  its 
pleasure  was  undisturbed  by  many  refugees.  Few 
were  traveling  the  road  with  us. 

A  good  many  soldiers  were  on  the  road,  however, 
and  our  ambulance  had  an  exciting  episode  with 
one  of  them.  At  Prizrend  the  car  had  been  turned 
over  to  Mr.  Boone,  a  fine  English  boy  of  scarcely 
eighteen  who  had  come  out  with  the  Stobart  unit 
and  who,  although  ill  most  of  the  time,  showed  an 
unfailing  cheerfulness  and  good  humor  that  threw 
him  into  glaring  contrast  with  most  of  his  country- 
men whom  it  was  my  fate  to  meet  in  Serbia.  If  I 
had  never  seen  any  Englishmen  except  those  who 
dumped  themselves,  or  were  dumped,  on  that  un- 
happy land,  I  would  conclude  without  difficulty 
that  the  percentage  of  the  species  we  know  as  men 
among  them  is  so  small  as  to  be  negligible.  For- 
tunately, it  was  possible  to  realize  early  that  Serbia 
had  been  made  the  military  and  diplomatic  scrap- 
heap  of  England  and  France,  and  that  the  speci- 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     309 

mens  to  be  found  there  were  no  more  to  be  taken  as 
representatives  of  those  two  great  nations  than  the 
contents  of  an  ash-can  can  be  held  to  be  the  true 
symbol  of  the  mansion  from  which  it  comes. 
Wholesale  criticisms  are  seldom  in  good  taste  and 
rarely  true.  If  here  and  in  other  portions  of  this 
book  the  opinions  expressed  seem  too  sweeping, 
the  only  apology  is  that  they  never  pretend  to  a 
wider  experience  than  was  actually  the  case,  and 
are  not  founded  on  any  personal  opinion  of  what 
may  or  may  not  be  wise  or  stupid,  but  are  rather 
the  outcome  of  an  indignation  aroused  on  occasions 
too  numerous  to  enumerate.  I  speak  of  the  unre- 
strained and  oft-repeated  expressions  of  mean,  ly- 
ing, and  contemptible  sentiments  from  men  sent  out 
to  help  Serbia.  The  wide-flung  declaration  of 
facts,  obviously  false,  the  cynical,  egotistical  criti- 
cisms of  the  nation  which  was  dying  through  the 
fault  of  these  critics'  own  nations;  the  ill-timed, 
vulgar,  and  abominable  mouthings  of  persons 
whose  business  it  was  to  fight  and  keep  their  mouths 
shut,  but  who  showed  no  perceptible  liking  for  do- 
ing either;  and  finally  the  cold  heartlessness  of  an 
English  journalist  whose  only  apparent  conception 
of  a  country's  crucifixion  seemed  to  be  that  it  was 


310       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

a  God-sent  opportunity  for  him  to  spread  pictur- 
esque slanders,  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  keep 
such  paragraphs  as  this  out  of  my  story. 

In  perhaps  the  widest  circulated  of  our  weeklies 
an  article  appeared  entitled  "The  Difficult  Truth 
about  Serbia."  It  is  a  fine  reading.  About  no 
country,  in  my  knowledge,  is  it  more  difficult  to  get 
the  truth.  The  truth  about  Serbia  is,  indeed,  diffi- 
cult to  learn,  but  a  pleasure  in  these  days  to  tell. 
It  is  a  truth  at  which,  in  a  stay  of  less  than  a  month, 
even  the  perspicacity  of  the  woman  journalist  who 
wrote  the  article  could  not  hope  to  arrive.  Filth 
is  no  criterion  by  which  to  judge  nations  who  have 
faced  what  the  Balkan  nations  have.  It  is  like 
criticizing  Milton  for  the  lack  of  a  manicurist.  To 
say  that  of  late  years  Serbia  has  had  time  to  re- 
cover from  the  effects  of  centuries  of  degradation  is, 
through  ignorance  or  design,  to  ignore  many  things. 
With  the  easy  grace  characteristic  of  a  certain  type 
of  feminine  mind  the  author  of  that  article  leaps 
over  the  economic  isolation  of  Serbia,  the  deadly 
trade  wars  with  Austria,  soars  over  the  most  signifi- 
cant factors  in  the  growth  of  nations,  knocking 
down  not  a  single  fact.  You  cannot  learn  a  nation 
in  a  week.  You  cannot  measure  the  potentialities 
of  a  people  by  their  lack  of  smart  fiacres  or  the 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     311 

abundance  of  vermin  in  their  inns  any  more  than 
you  can  fairly  revile  them  because,  with  world 
dramas  on  every  side,  as  yet  the  cinematograph  has 
failed  to  bring  them  the  "Perils  of  Pauline."  After 
a  stay  of  a  fortnight  you  cannot  convincingly  im- 
pugn the  honor,  kindness,  pride,  and  hospitality 
of  a  people  in  whom  for  a  generation  English, 
American,  French,  and  German  travel- writers  have 
praised  these  qualities  almost  without  exception. 
When  you  attempt  to  do  such  things  you  become  to 
the  informed  reader  stupid  or  laughable,  but  to  the 
unsuspecting  millions  pernicious. 

The  right  to  this  opinion  I  do  not  base  upon  as 
intimate  a  knowledge  as  I  could  desire,  but  it  is 
given  on  at  least  two  months'  extensive  travel  over 
the  country  and  close  association  with  all  classes, 
on  four  additional  months  of  "root-hog-or-die"  ex- 
istence with  the  soldiers  of  the  line,  with  their,  offi- 
cers, with  their  martyred  wives  and  children,  and 
finally  on  the  illuminating  sight  of  Serbia  in  the 
moment  of  her  death,  that  moment  which  on  the 
road  to  Ipek  we  were  fast  approaching.  The  Serb 
is  not  an  angel,  frequently  he  is  not  clean,  but, 
thank  Heaven!  he  is  a  man. 

All  of  which  is  by  way  of  digression.  Boone  was 
bounding  along  in  the  ambulance  alone  except  for 


312       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

two  wounded  soldiers  that  he  had  picked  up,  and 
who,  with  the  supplies  he  had  to  carry,  were  all  the 
car  would  hold.  Some  slight  trouble  forced  him 
to  stop,  and  before  he  could  start  again  a  Serbian 
petty  officer,  who  had  called  to  him  in  French  a 
short  time  before,  ordering  him  to  stop,  came  up. 
He  wasted  no  words,  but  harshly  ordered  Boone  to 
give  him  a  place  in  the  car.  Boone  refused  to  do 
this,  showing  him  the  wounded  soldiers.  When  he 
saw  the  soldiers,  the  young  brute  became  furious, 
and  ordered  Boone  to  throw  them  out  and  to  take 
him.  Boone  again  refused  to  obey  the  order. 
Then  the  officer  drew  his  automatic  and  pressed  it 
against  Boone's  temple,  repeating  the  demand. 
Boone  still  refused  to  throw  out  the  wounded  men, 
but  they  had  seen  the  situation,  and  of  their  own 
accord  got  out.  The  officer  then  forced  the  Eng- 
lish boy  to  get  in  and  drive  him  on,  holding  the  pis- 
tol to  his  head  all  the  time.  Finally  a  tire  blew  out, 
much  to  Boone's  relief,  and  as  repairing  it  required 
some  time  the  officer  went  away  swearing.  Such 
incidents  as  this  were  inevitable  at  such  a  time. 
Examples  of  brutality  are  not  lacking  in  any  army 
anywhere.  When  I  read  wild  tales  of  Serbian  sol- 
diers having  mutinied,  murdered  their  officers,  and 
looted  the  houses  of  their  countrymen,  I  cannot  but 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     313 

think  they  have  their  foundation  in  more  or  less 
isolated  crimes.  The  splendid  dignity,  the  great 
restraint,  and  the  almost  perfect  behavior  of  the  sol- 
diers and  civilians  after  their  Government  had 
crumbled  caused  frequent  comment  among  the 
foreigners  making  the  retreat.  Had  the  gentle- 
man who  described  Krushevats  as  dead  drunk  seen 
this  episode,  the  world  might  have  been  treated  to 
an  account  of  how  the  Serbian  officers  in  a  delirium 
of  fear  turned  on  the  Red  Cross  workers,  and  we  at 
home  would  have  believed  it! 

At  about  three  in  the  afternoon  those  of  us  in  the 
front  party  crossed  over  the  bridge  which  marks 
the  boundary  between  Serbia  and  Montenegro. 
It  was  dusk  when  we  came  to  Jakova,  and  almost 
an  hour  later  before  we  found  a  resting-place  in  a 
Turkish  school-room.  Jakova  furnished  a  good 
illustration  of  the  isolation  that  still  exists  in  this 
region.  Thirty  kilometers  away  was  the  inferno  of 
Prizrend.  At  Jakova,  the  day  we  arrived,  one 
would  not  have  known  that  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  war.  Silver  money  could  be  easily  obtained,  and 
food  was  for  sale.  Next  morning  I  bought  quanti- 
ties of  cigarettes,  and  because  we  had  had  no  sugar 
for  some  time,  a  store  of  raisins  and  sticky  "Turkish 
Delight."  But  with  us  came  the  first  sign  of  the 


314        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

deluge,  and  on  the  second  day  after  we  arrived 
enough  refugees  and  soldiers  had  come  to  give  the 
inhabitants  a  sense  of  uneasiness,  so  that  when  I 
went  out  to  shop  on  this  day,  I  found  conditions 
much  changed.  In  vain  I  hunted  for  more  "Turk- 
ish Delight"  and  cigarettes.  They  and  nearly 
every  other  article  had  disappeared.  I  did  not  be- 
lieve the  stock  had  been  sold  out  so  quickly,  and  was 
puzzled. 

Finally  in  the  window  of  a  little  shop  I  saw  an 
empty  box  that  had  without  doubt  contained  the 
coveted  sweet.  I  went  in  and  directed  the  ancient 
Turk's  attention  to  it,  mentioning  divers  moneys. 
He  shook  his  head  stolidly.  I  repeated  the  opera- 
tion, although  I  was  confident  he  had  understood 
the  first  time,  but  with  no  more  success.  Then  I 
had  an  inspiration.  At  college  I  had  learned  a 
disgusting  trick,  which  consisted  of  smacking  the 
lips  and  rubbing  the  stomach  in  unison,  a  perform- 
ance that  made  up  in  buffoonery  what  it  lacked  in 
elegance.  I  now  had  recourse  to  this,  nodding 
meanwhile  at  the  empty  box.  At  first  the  good 
Moslem  brother  looked  startled,  as  if  I  should  not 
be  loose;  then  over  the  wrinkled,  inscrutable  pie- 
plate  that  he  called  his  face  a  grin  flickered,  and 
diving  into  a  back  room,  he  brought  half  a  dozen 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     315 

boxes  and  sold  them  to  me,  thus  proving  that  not 
everything  learned  at  college  is  useless.  The  shop- 
keepers had  begun  to  hoard,  taking  all  tempting  ar- 
ticles out  of  the  sight  of  the  soldiers,  who  might  not 
prove  overscrupulous  about  a  little  raid. 

I  continued  my  search  for  cigarettes.  There 
were  any  number  of  tobacco  shops  where  on  the 
previous  day  these  could  be  had,  but  now  nothing 
but  smoking  tobacco  of  a  very  inferior  grade  was 
for  sale.  I  could  think  of  no  vaudeville  stunt  cal- 
culated to  soften  the  dealers'  hearts.  Disconso- 
lately I  looked  into  a  tobacco-shop  window  when  a 
Turkish  gamin  of  ten  came  by,  puffing  a  cigarette 
as  large  as  his  two  fingers.  He  stopped  and  looked 
at  me  as  I  looked  at  the  empty  window.  I  patted 
him  on  the  head,  told  him  in  English  he  should  not 
use  tobacco,  pointed  to  his  cigarette,  and  held  up 
five  dinars.  He  promptly  led  me  around  a  corner, 
winked,  and  disappeared.  Soon  he  was  back  with 
two  hundred  excellent  cigarettes.  I  pocketed 
them,  and  held  up  five  more  dinars.  Again  I  re- 
ceived two  hundred,  and  he  pocketed  the  ten  dinars. 
My  conscience  now  suggests  that  in  the  evening 
when  papa  Turk  came  home  to  his  harem,  he  may 
have  worn  out  an  embroidered  velvet  slipper  caress- 
ing the  anatomy  of  my  sly  friend,  but  I  wager  he 


316       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

saw  nothing  of  the  ten  dinars.  Dans  la  guerre 
comme  dans  la  guerre! 

At  Jakova  I  sold  one  pair  of  the  oxen  I  had 
bought  about  six  weeks  before  at  Alexandrovats. 
They  had  come  all  that  distance  through  terrible 
hardships  and  were  much  weakened ;  but  I  received 
thirty  dinars  more  than  I  had  paid  for  them,  and  I 
sold  them  to  a  Turk!  All  things  considered,  it 
was  the  greatest  financial  stroke  I  ever  performed. 
One  day's  journey  away  was  Ipek,  where  all  the 
oxen  would  have  to  be  abandoned.  There  a  few 
days  later  I  gave  the  other  and  larger  pair  to  Ticho- 
mir,  who  sold  them  for  eighty  dinars.  Our  noble 
chariot  was  burned  to  warm  his  lazy  limbs. 

We  left  Jakova  in  the  beginning  of  our  second 
snow-storm;  but  it  was  not  so  cold  as  on  the  Plain 
of  Kossovo,  and  there  was  no  wind.  Also  the  way 
was  not  so  encumbered  with  refugees,  though  full 
of  the  army.  The  fall  was  exceedingly  heavy,  and 
delayed  us  some,  so  that  it  was  nearly  dark  when  we 
turned  up  the  canon  to  seek  refuge  in  the  monastery 
where  Dr.  Curcin  had  made  arrangements  for  the 
unit  to  stay,  the  journey  on  to  Ipek  requiring  only 
about  three  hours.  For  thirty  mimites  we  fol- 
lowed a  makeshift  road  between  ever-heightening 
mountains.  The  creaking  and  rumbling  of  our 


5  * 

I! 
11 

o>  < 
2  -3 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     319 

carts  was  the  only  sound  in  the  snow-laden  forest. 
Far  ahead  we  saw  the  great  building,  with  hundreds 
of  ruddy  windows  sending  rays  of  light  down  the 
valley.  It  looked  cheerful  enough,  and  even  had 
something  of  a  festive  air,  which  made  me  suddenly 
remember  that  it  was  Thanksgiving  day.  Being 
the  only  American  in  the  party,  I  had  quite  forgot- 
ten this  occasion.  When  we  floundered  up  to  it,  we 
found  the  great  quadrangular  building  as  white  as 
an  Eskimo  hut,  and  entering  by  a  high  arched  por- 
tal we  plowed  about  the  extensive  courtyard,  deep 
in  great  snow-drifts.  On  the  eastern  side  of  the 
court  stood  the  ancient  church,  streaming  light 
from  the  windows  illuminating  in  patches  its  rich 
fa£ade  of  colored  marbles,  while  the  numerous  gar- 
goyles in  the  shadows  above  had  become  terrible 
pale  shapes  that  grinned  and  writhed,  strained  and 
snarled,  in  the  gathering  night. 

No  doubt  they  have  seen  many  strange  sights, 
these  odd,  old  creatures,  which  were  white  with 
the  whiteness  of  new  niarble  when  the  Serbia  of 
ancient  days  was  ground  to  death  under  the  Turk- 
ish heel,  from  which  the  rest  of  Europe  had  only 
with  great  difficulty  been  delivered  by  a  valiant 
Pole  under  the  very  walls  of  Vienna.  They  had 
looked  on  while  for  five  centuries  a  race,  persecuted 


320       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

with  every  conceivable  form  of  atrocity  and  oppres- 
sion, had  kept  alive  the  dream  of  the  Southern  Slav, 
and  in  times  so  recent  that  to  them  it  must  have 
seemed  but  yesterday  they  saw  that  dream  come  to 
flower  in  a  little  nation  which,  whatever  its  faults, 
is  certainly  as  brave  and  as  unfortunate  as  any  na- 
tion ever  was.  Four  years  ago  they  saw  it  redeem 
a  large  stretch  of  territory  from  its  ancient  enemy, 
and  then,  bullied  by  a  treacherous  ally,  turn  and 
inflict  a  stinging  defeat  upon  her.  They  saw  this 
new-born  nation  live  through  those  breathless  days 
of  1914,  when  the  whole  world  watched  her.  They 
saw  her  confronted  with  demands  more  humiliat- 
ing than  any  free  nation  had  ever  been  called 
upon  to  accept,  and  they  saw  her  make  broader 
concessions  than  any  free  nation  had  ever  done 
before,  but  to  no  purpose.  Then  they  saw  her 
invaded  by  an  army  three  times  the  strength  of 
her  own,  they  saw  her  desperate  and  suddenly,  be- 
fore the  world  realized,  gloriously  victorious  under 
General  Mishich's  brilliant  leadership,  but  wounded 
and  exhausted,  so  that  disease  and  famine  spread 
over  her  for  six  months,  creating  a  situation  terrible 
enough  to  call  the  whole  friendly  and  neutral  world 
to  her  aid.  That  Thanksgiving  night  they  were 
witnessing  the  passing  of  a  shattered,  starving 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     321 

army,  the  plight  of  a  hopeless,  starving  people,  and 
now  without  doubt  Bulgarian  officers  pass  to  and 
fro  beneath  them. 

It  seems  impossible  for  one  who  saw  it  to  speak 
or  write  coldly  about  this  period  of  the  retreat.  It 
was  the  death  moment.  After  it  the  flight  over  the 
mountains  seemed  merely  the  instinctive  departure 
of  men  who  for  the  most  part  did  not  care  whether 
they  lived  or  died.  Two  or  three  days  later  all 
three  armies  would  be  in  Ipek,  except  several  thou- 
sand who  already  had  gone  into  Albania  from  Priz- 
rend.  The  road  having  been  cut,  part  of  the  sec- 
ond army  was  coming  across  country,  without  any 
roads  at  all,  over  frozen  plains  and  snow-covered 
hills,  fording  icy  streams  every  few  miles,  dragging 
their  cannon  and  ammunition  with  them.  The 
three  field  commanders  would  soon  hold  their  coun- 
cil in  Ipek.  King  Peter,  the  crown  prince,  Gen- 
eral Putnik,  and  the  general  staff  were  already  on 
their  way  to  Scutari.  The  Allies  had  failed  her; 
Serbia  was  lost. 

Throughout  the  long  night  carts  struggled  up  to 
the  monastery,  and  men  bearing  stretchers  filed  in. 
They  carried  Serbian  officers,  many  wounded,  some 
dead  from  cold  and  the  cruel  exhaustion  of  the 
carts.  All  night  long  the  queer  monastery  boys, 


322       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

in  their  tight,  bright-red  trousers  and  abbreviated 
blue  jackets,  ran  up  and  down  the  long  corridors 
with  flaring  lights,  while  the  brown,  silent  monks 
stole  to  and  fro.  There  were  cries  and  groans  and 
curses,  and  every  hour  chimes  in  the  old  tower.  It 
was  bitter  cold.  A  more  grotesque  night  I  never 
expect  to  spend. 

No,  one  cannot  write  calmly  of  Ipek  then.  No 
matter  where  one's  sympathies  may  lie  in  this  war 
that  has  divided  the  world,  if  one  knows  patriotism 
and  has  any  admiration  for  pure  grit,  that  last 
camp  of  the  Serbian  army,  already  on  foreign  soil, 
could  call  forth  nothing  but  the  deepest  feeling. 

We  came  to  Ipek  after  two  days'  delay  at  the 
monastery,  which  allowed  the  weaker  of  the  party 
to  regain  a  little  of  their  strength.  It  was  a  great 
question  at  this  time  whether  we  should  ever  get  to 
Ipek,  or,  at  any  rate,  out  of  it,  before  the  Germans 
came.  Mitrovitze  had  been  in  their  hands  for  sev- 
eral days,  and  Mitrovitze  was  distant  only  twenty- 
five  kilometers.  A  part  of  this  way  the  invaders 
had  already  come,  and  we  did  not  know  whether 
they  would  be  opposed  by  the  Serbs  or  not.  But  it 
is  not  easy  to  arrange  quickly  at  such  a  time  for  a 
party  of  forty  women  and  the  necessary  attendants, 
guides,  guards,  and  food  to  cross  the  mountains  of 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     323 

v 

Montenegro.  Dr.  Curcin  and  some  Serbs  had  gone 
ahead  to  make  such  arrangements  as  were  possible. 
On  the  second  day  we  started  for  the  town.  As 
soon  as  we  reached  the  canon's  mouth  and  turned 
into  the  main  road,  the  coldest  wind  I  had  ever  felt 
struck  us  full  in  the  face  as  it  swept  off  the  bleak, 
Alpine  peaks  behind  Ipek  and  raced  unbroken 
across  the  icy  plain.  In  crossing  this  plain  we  un- 
doubtedly suffered  more  bitterly  from  the  cold  than 
anywhere  else  on  the  whole  retreat.  Nor  was  it 
cheerful  to  think  that,  if  we  were  freezing  on  this 
plain,  what  would  happen  when  we  took  the  two- 
foot  trail  across  the  summits  of  those  mountains, 
now  so  blinding  in  the  bright  sunshine  that  we  could 
scarcely  look  at  them.  I  could  see  great  clouds  of 
driven  snow  swirling  around  those  lofty  ice-fields, 
just  as  on  any  clear  day  they  may  be  seen  blurring 
the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc  and  showing  the  violence 
of  the  gales.  Perhaps  it  was  foolish,  certainly  it 
was  no  compliment  to  the  oncoming  Teutons,  that 
in  a  choice  between  them  and  the  cruel  desolation  of 
those  vast,  trackless  wastes  the  women  of  England 
unanimously  chose  the  latter.  But  I  do  not  think 
it  was  really  fear  of  the  invader  at  all.  In  the  first 
place,  as  far  as  we  could  learn,  there  had  been  no 
reason  to  fear  the  Teutonic  invaders  in  Serbia.  I 


324        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

say  as  far  as  we  could  learn,  for  we  were  ahead  of 
the  army,  and  hence  would  naturally  not  come  in 
contact  with  atrocities,  if  any  had  been  committed. 
But  according  to  Admiral  Troubridge,  Colonel 
Phillips,  and  Serbians  with  whom  I  talked,  they 
had  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  Germans  were  not 
following  a  humane  policy  in  Serbia.  We  heard 
that  on  entering  Belgrade — what  was  left  of  Bel- 
grade— they  sealed  the  houses  which  had  been  left 
intact,  and  disturbed  nothing  except  to  take  all  the 
brass,  copper,  and  bronze  which  they  found.  Since 
coming  out  of  Serbia  I  have  heard  many  seemingly 
authentic  stories  of  barbarities  committed  there  by 
the  Teutons  and  by  the  Bulgarians,  but  from  per- 
sonal experience  I  know  only  what  I  have  stated. 

I  think  it  was  the  strong  aversion  the  nurses  felt 
at  the  possibility  of  having  to  nurse  back  to  fitness 
for  the  trenches  the  men  whom  their  fathers  and 
brothers  were  fighting  that  was  the  deciding  factor 
in  their  decision  to  go  over  the  mountains.  To  see 
any  live  thing  suffering  made  these  women  almost 
wild  unless  they  could  do  something  to  relieve  it; 
and  then  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  were  rather 
jubilant,  their  professional  feeling  drowning  every- 
thing else.  A  prisoner  never  failed  to  draw  sym- 
pathy from  them,  but  when  it  came  to  being  pris- 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     325 

oners  themselves  and  nursing  men  who  would  be 
sent  back  to  fight — well,  the  unknown,  icy  trails 
were  preferable,  even  though  they  were  ragged  and 
starved,  footsore  and  weary. 

The  wind  that  nearly  took  us  off  our  feet  and 
whistled  through  our  clothing,  chilling  us  to  the 
bone,  also  removed  the  light  layer  of  feathery  snow 
that  lay  under  foot,  and  uncovered  a  solid  expanse 
of  slippery  ice  on  which  every  moment  animals  and 
people  lost  their  balance  and  fell  heavily.  It  was 
like  a  skating-lesson.  At  times  it  was  impossible 
to  move  at  all  against  the  wind  with  such  insecure 
footing,  and  many  ox-carts  stood  immovable  in  the 
road,  with  both  oxen  vainly  trying  to  rise. 

In  the  sheltered  canon  we  had  met  wild,  little 
Gipsy  boys  who  did  a  brisk  trade  in  wormy  apples 
about  the  size  of  lemons,  wormy  chestnuts,  and 
hard,  green,  little  pears.  Lead  a  precarious  exist- 
ence out  of  tin  cans  for  weeks,  and  see  if  you  would 
not  welcome  such  fruit  as  this.  We  did  abun- 
dantly. But  those  pears  were  dum-dum  bullets. 
They  raised  all  their  mischief  inside,  and,  combined 
with  many  a  chill  among  us,  was  many  a  stomach- 
ache of  the  real,  near-fatal,  small-boy  variety.  At 
last  with  eyes  that  smarted  and  wept  under  freez- 
ing slaps  of  the  wind,  we  saw  Ipek  splotching  the 


326        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

arid,  white  waste  at  the  base  of  the  mountains,  a 
straggling,  irregular,  crimson-and-yellow  blot  on 
the  snow.  It  looked  as  if  a  Titan  had  dropped  a 
titanic  tomato  of  titanic  over-ripeness.  I  do  not 
love  Ipek,  but  I  shall  be  dust  and  ashes  before  I 
forget  it. 

Of  course  we  did  not  have  so  many  refugees  to 
make  life  terrible,  but  here  it  was  the  army  that 
took  the  star  role  in  our  masque  of  horror.  There 
were  just  enough  civilians  to  make  the  town  really 
congested.  Around  it  on  the  ice  and  snow  the 
army  camped,  or,  rather,  lay  down  in  the  frosty 
open,  nursed  its  wounded,  and  took  stock  of  its 
dead.  When  I  saw  the  Serbian  soldiers  at  Ipek  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  had  seen  the  hardiest  men  on 
earth  reduced  to  the  furthest  limit  of  their  endur- 
ance. Again,  like  the  quick-trip  journalists,  I  was 
very  ignorant  and  foolish.  Had  a  pressing  con- 
tract to  write  up  the  court  etiquette  of  Timbuctoo 
in  1776  called  me  hurriedly  away  at  the  moment, 
in  all  good  faith  I  would  have  cabled  any  newspaper 
that  had  been  unfortunate  enough  to  retain  me  that 
the  Serbian  army  had  reached  the  end  of  its  rope, 
was  merely  scratching  around  in  the  snows  of  Ipek 
for  a  place  in  which  to  die,  and  would  never  get  ten 
miles  over  the  mountains  toward  Scutari.  I  might 


3   £ 

•O    SB 


•B 

D     O 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     329 

have  padded  this  information  with  more  or  less 
veracious  details  of  hungry  soldiers  eating  live  oxen 
on  the  half -shell,  and  fastidious  officers  living  on 
consomme  made  from  expensive  Russian  boots,  and 
in  all  probability  I  would  have  established  myself 
as  an  authority  on  Serbia. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  two  war  correspondents, 
one  English  and  one  American,  did  find  time  and 
inspiration  to  make  part  of  the  retreat.  They  took 
the  route  through  Albania  to  Scutari  and  thence  to 
Rome.  They  were  the  first  two;  I  happened  to 
be  the  third  curiosity  to  arrive  in  the  Eternal  City 
from  the  great  retreat.  As  such,  Ambassador 
Page  questioned  me  extensively,  with  his  habitual 
Southern  courtesy.  Among  other  things,  he  asked 
how  many  Serbian  soldiers  came  through.  When 
I  replied,  not  less  than  one  hundred  thousand,  he 
laughed  politely,  but  very  heartily.  It  was  impos- 
sible; it  could  not  be;  besides,  the  two  eminent  cor- 
respondents differed  radically  from  me.  One  said 
about  thirty,  and  the  other  about  forty  thousand, 
had  escaped.  Mr.  Page  was  inclined  to  split  the 
difference  at  thirty-five  thousand.  Last  week  His 
Highness  Alexander,  Prince  Regent,  announced 
that  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  Serbs  were 
now  completely  reorganized,  reequipped,  and  suffi- 


330       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

ciently  rested  to  fight  again  on  any  battle-field. 
Sixteen  thousand  of  these  came  out  by  way  of  Sa- 
loniki,  the  rest  through  Albania  and  Montenegro. 
So  much  for  the  quick-fire  reporters.  Despite 
their  manifest  shortcomings,  what  would  we  do 
without  them? 

The  army  that  huddled  around  the  cheerless 
town  of  Ipek  really  did  not  seem  to  have  enough 
reserve  strength  to  make  any  further  exertion.  I 
knew,  as  I  looked  at  the  drab,  bedraggled  groups 
clustering  about  fires  that  their  transport-wagons 
fed,  that  these  men  were  doomed  to  death  or  cap- 
ture at  Ipek.  Three  weeks  later,  watching  the 
same  men  crawl  into  Scutari,  I  knew  that  I  had 
been  mistaken  previously,  but  that,  unless  Scutari 
was  safe  for  months  and  ample  food  and  clothing 
came,  they  would  die  or  surrender  there.  Further 
mountain  retreating  for  that  mechanical  mass, 
scarcely  instinct  with  life,  was  impossible.  Again 
I  would  have  cabled  lies  to  my  paper.  I  was  igno- 
rant again.  They  did  not  get  rest  at  Scutari  nor  at 
San  Giovanni  di  Medua,  but  they  made  the  inde- 
scribable march  to  Durazzo  on  rations  that  were 
criminally  short,  hundreds  and  hundreds  perishing 
by  the  roadside,  and  then  they  fell  into  boats,  and 
only  on  the  islands  of  the  Adriatic  and  in  southern 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     331 

Italy  did  they  find  food  and  rest.  Now,  after 
scarcely  two  months,  comes  the  amazing  announce- 
ment that  they  are  ready  and  eager  for  the  battle 
again!  Such  were  the  men  I  saw  evacuating  the 
hospitals,  such  were  the  men  I  saw  crowding  the 
long  refugee-trains  in  indescribable  discomfort, 
such  were  the  men  I  saw,  wounded  and  bleeding, 
tramping  the  muddy  roads  through  the  wilderness ; 
such  were  they  whom  I  saw  freezing  and  starving 
around  Ipek,  who  died  by  the  hundreds  there  and 
by  the  thousands  in  the  mountains ;  such  were  they 
who,  when  they  could  have  surrendered  with  bet- 
terment to  themselves,  and  dishonor  for  their  coun- 
try, did  not,  but  made  a  retreat  as  brave  and  as 
glorious  as  any  victory  of  this  or  any  other  war — a 
retreat  that  dims  the  flight  from  Moscow  in  suf- 
fering. Such  is  the  Serbian  army,  the  army  that 
cannot  die. 

The  economic  life  of  Ipek  was  interesting. 
Splendid  oxen  could  be  bought  here  for  ten  or  fif- 
teen dollars  a  pair,  their  former  price  being  about 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars.  The  food 
situation  was  acute,  but  not  so  bad  as  at  Prizrend. 
However,  the  supply,  such  as  it  was,  was  purely 
temporary,  and  before  I  left  had  been  completely 
exhausted.  The  price  of  boots  was  a  phenomenon. 


332       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

Since  the  first  day  of  the  retreat  footgear  had  sold 
at  constantly  increasing  prices,  until  the  amount 
paid  for  a  pair  of  boots  was  fabulous,  amounting  to 
sixty  or  seventy  dollars.  In  the  streets  of  Ipek 
there  were  quantities  of  excellent  Russian  boots  for 
sale  at  four  or  five  dollars,  the  normal  price  of  these 
in  Serbia  being  about  twenty  dollars.  Government 
magazines  had  been  thrown  open  to  the  soldiers, 
and  many  of  those  who  happened  to  be  more  or  less 
decently  shod  preferred  to  sell.  So  the  bottom 
dropped  out  of  the  boot  market.  Bread,  however, 
was  at  the  same  famine  prices  that  had  prevailed 
before.  I  saw  a  pound  loaf  sell  for  eight  dollars. 

The  council  between  the  three  generals  was  on. 
All  communication  with  the  General  Staff  was  cut 
off.  It  devolved  upon  the  field-commanders  to  de- 
cide upon  the  final  abandonment  of  Serbia.  Their 
conference  lasted  two  days,  and,  according  to  all 
reports,  was  stormy.  General  Mishich  was  for  an 
offensive  even  at  that  date.  With  those  emaciated 
regiments  out  there  in  the  frozen  fields,  killing  their 
transport-beasts  for  food,  burning  their  transport- 
wagons  for  fuel,  and  having  enough  of  neither,  with 
most  of  his  ammunition  gone,  together  with  a  great 
part  of  the  very  insufficient  artillery  which  the  army 
had  possessed,  he  still  felt  that  there  was  a  chance, 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     333 

and  that  is  all  that  is  necessary  for  the  Serbian  sol- 
dier. They  are  not  fools,  they  do  not  die  need- 
lessly, as  the  Montenegrins  are  popularly  reported 
to  do,  but  if  there  is  a  chance  life  counts  nothing  to 
them.  During  the  months  that  I  lived  with  them, 
slept  with  them  on  the  ground,  ate  their  bread,  saw 
their  battle-lines,  I  learned  this  beyond  all  else. 
Soldier  for  soldier,  I  believe  them  to  be  the  best 
fighters  in  the  world.  Most  soldiers  are  brave 
men;  the  Serb  is  also  a  marvelous  stoic,  a  rare  op- 
timist, and  built  of  steel.  But  the  odds  there  were 
too  great.  The  other  two  generals  favored  the 
course  which  was  carried  out  with  a  very  remarka- 
ble degree  of  success — a  general  retreat  through  the 
mountains  with  as  many  of  the  smaller  guns  and  as 
much  ammunition  as  possible.  So  the  evacuation 
of  Ipek  was  announced. 

The  next  morning  loud  explosions  were  heard  at 
one  end  of  the  town.  The  purchase  of  horses  was 
keeping  us  in  Ipek,  and  I  found  myself  with  noth- 
ing to  do,  so,  with  my  camera,  I  wandered  toward 
the  explosions.  At  the  edge  of  the  town,  where  the 
highway  that  was  a  skating-rink  led  out,  a  lot  of 
field-guns  were  finishing  their  short,  but  checkered, 
career.  They  were  just  about  obsolete  and  worn 
out,  anyway.  Fate  had  not  been  very  kind  to  them, 


334       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

and  few  vacations  had  been  theirs  since,  new  and 
efficient,  they  had  been  turned  on  the  Turks  in 

1912  with  a  result  too  well-known  to  recall.     In 

1913  they  had  been  reversed,  and  had  spoken  suc- 
cessfully the  Serbs'  opinion  of  the  Bulgarians.     In 

1914  they  blew  Austria's  cumbersome  legions  to 
shreds,  and  stuck  up  a  "Keep  off"  sign  over  Serbia 
that  Austria  did  not  feel  justified  in  disregarding 
until  Germany  and  Bulgaria  could  aid  her.     After 
that  they  had  been  dragged  and  carried  the  length 
of  Old  Serbia  until  fate  had  concentrated  them  in 
groups  of  two  or  three  along  the  Ipek  road. 

The  men  who  were  smashing  their  breeches  or 
blowing  up  their  carriages  looked  as  if  they  hated 
themselves.  The  army  lined  the  road  to  watch. 
The  only  sounds  were  the  ringing  sledges  and  the 
detonations  of  the  explosions.  As  I  photographed 
some  of  those  yet  untouched,  it  came  to  me  rather 
forcibly  that  this  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen 
Serbian  soldiers  work  without  laughter  and  song. 

A  gunner  whose  gun  I  had  photographed  came 
up  to  me  and  in  broken  German  asked  if  I  would 
send  him  a  photograph.  I  took  out  my  note-book 
and  pencil  and  told  him  to  write  his  address.  He 
hesitated.  He  had  forgotten  something;  he  had  no 
address  any  more.  He  had  nothing  but  that  gun, 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     335 

which  he  had  worked  since  1912.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  would  not  have  that.  We  could  hear  plainly  the 
enemy  fighting  with  the  rear-guard  out  toward 
Mitrovitze.  The  man  began  to  curse,  and  war  was 
the  object  of  his  curses.  Again  I  was  forcibly  im- 
pressed; it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  a 
Serb  curse  war,  though  all  had  lamented  it.  Also 
for  the  first  time  I  was  seeing  a  Serbian  man  weep. 
I  could  hardly  believe  it.  Standing  there  with  his 
back  to  the  mountains  and  his  face  turned  toward 
the  enemy,  shaking  with  the  cold,  the  man,  for  a 
Serb,  went  to  pieces:  four  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks.  Turning  to  me,  he  said,  "America  dobra, 
dobra,  dobra,  dobra"  ("America  good,  good,  good, 
good").  Then  they  came  and  knocked  his  gun  to 
pieces.  Most  forcibly  of  all  there  came  to  me  the 
conception  of  a  new  sort  of  value  in  artillery — a 
value  that  is  not  strictly  military,  nor  particularly 
effected  by  the  model  or  life  of  a  gun. 

In  Ipek  there  were  many  automobiles — motor- 
lorries,  limousines,  and  touring-cars.  They  were 
drawn  up  around  the  public  squares  in  imposing 
rows.  Apparently  from  habit  the  chauffeurs  pot- 
tered about  them,  polishing  the  plate-glass  and 
nickel  and  cleaning  the  engines.  But  when  evacu- 
ation was  announced  they  drove  a  little  way  out  of 


336       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

the  town.  Some  of  them  had  brought  hand-gre- 
nades, and  leaving  the  engines  running,  they  lifted 
up  the  hoods,  struck  the  percussion-caps  of  the 
bombs,  which  they  dropped  beside  the  cylinders, 
and  then  ran.  A  Serbian  grenade  explodes  in  from 
seven  to  ten  seconds  after  the  cap  is  struck,  so  that 
one  could  not  get  very  far  before  the  racing  motor 
was  blown  to  scrap-iron.  Fire  usually  consumed 
the  body.  Other  chauffeurs  saturated  their  cars 
with  petrol  and  set  them  on  fire.  In  the  case  of 
limousines  this  was  spectacular.  With  all  the  up- 
holstery soaked  well  with  benzine,  and  everything 
closed  tight  except  a  small  crack  in  one  window 
through  which  the  match  was  thrown,  the  luxurious 
cars  became  roaring  furnaces  for  a  minute,  and  then 
literally  exploded  into  glorious  bonfires.  But 
these  methods  were  as  nothing  compared  with  what 
one  chauffeur  conceived  and,  by  setting  the  fashion, 
brought  several  others  to  adopt.  The  man  who 
thought  about  it  ought  not  to  be  a  chauffeur  at  all ; 
he  ought  to  be  at  the  head  of  a  cinematograph  com- 
pany. 

The  mountain  horse-trail  does  not  begin  in  Ipek 
itself,  but  is  approached  by  three  or  four  kilometers 
of  regular  road,  which  at  a  rightangular  turn 
shrinks  into  the  two-foot  trail.  At  this  point  it  is 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     337 

cut  in  the  side  of  a  sheer  cliff  three  or  four  hundred 
feet  above  a  little  stream.  There  is  no  balustrade; 
the  earth  simply  ends,  and  space  begins.  Having 
arrived  at  this  point,  to  step  out  of  the  car,  let  in 
the  clutch,  and  push  down  the  accelerator  was  less 
dangerous  than  the  grenade,  easier,  quicker  and 
far  more  exciting  than  the  fire.  It  was  a  great 
game.  There  was  a  long  gray  Cadillac  that  took 
the  brink  like  a  trained  hunter,  leaping  far  out  over 
the  edge.  As  its  power  was  suddenly  released  from 
the  friction  of  the  road,  the  car  roared  and  trembled 
like  a  live  animal  during  the  infinitesimal  instant 
that  it  hung  upright,  held  by  its  own  momentum. 
Then  the  motor  dragged  its  nose  downward  as  true 
as  an  arrow  until  it  struck  the  steep  slope,  down 
which  it  did  quick  somersaults,  the  tires  bursting 
with  bangs  that  could  be  heard  above  the  crash. 
Before  it  had  rolled  into  the  stream  it  became  a  ball 
of  fire.  A  ponderous  Benz  limousine  followed, 
and  tucked  its  nose  into  the  slope  without  a  spec- 
tacular leap.  It  was  like  a  fat  old  lady  falling 
down-stairs.  Its  tires  blew  out,  and  its  body  came 
loose  from  the  chassis,  both  running  a  race  to  the 
river.  An  expensive-looking  Fiat  behaved  much 
in  the  manner  of  the  Cadillac,  and  was  followed  by 
a  large  French  motor-lorry,  which  plowed  a  terri- 


338        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

ble  path  down  the  cliff,  pretty  well  giving  knock 
for  knock,  and  finally  grinding  to  splinters  the 
wreckage  on  which  it  hit  at  the  bottom.  Others 
followed,  each  taking  the  leap  in  an  individual  man- 
ner. Sometimes  they  flew  almost  to  bits.  The 
tires  invariably  blew  out  with  loud  reports.  Since 
it  had  to  be  done,  one  did  wish  for  every  small  boy 
in  America  to  watch  it.  I  think  the  chauffeurs 
who  burned  or  blew  up  their  cars  were  sorry. 

It  is  doubtless  permissible  to  add  that  one  very 
famous  and  very  cheap  American  car  made  the 
leap.  It  had  up  good  speed  and  its  well-known 
characteristic  of  lightness  sent  it  far  beyond  the 
brink,  where  it  floated  four  hundred  feet  above  the 
river.  It  acted  quite  as  if  it  wanted  to  fly,  and  with 
a  little  encouragement  and  experience  might  have 
sailed  on  over  the  mountain-tops,  headed  for  De- 
troit. But  once  started  on  its  downward  course, 
it  gyrated  with  incredible  swiftness,  quite  as  fast 
as  its  wheels  had  ever  turned,  and,  bouncing  on  the 
river-bank,  flew  beyond  the  other  cars,  swam  the 
stream,  and  came  to  an  eternal  resting-place  on  the 
farther  side.  It  was  just  the  sort  of  a  stunt  one 
would  expect  from  a  nervy  little  thing  like  that! 

Buying  horses  at  Ipek  was  a  difficult  gamble. 
By  the  time  we  arrived,  the  horse-market  had  been 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     339 

thoroughly  picked  over,  and  everything  that  could 
be  mistaken  for  a  real  horse  had  already  been  taken 
through  the  mountains.  After  three  days'  strenu- 
ous search,  one  horse  for  every  two  members  of  the 
unit  was  procured.  They  were  miserable,  weak 
animals,  with  large  sores  on  their  backs  and  dis- 
couragement enshrouding  them  like  a  cloak.  It 
took  a  lot  of  will  power  to  put  the  rough,  wooden 
pack-saddles  on  those  raw  backs  and  to  load  them 
down  with  what  to  a  regular  pony  would  have  been 
feather-weights. 

You  may  be  wondering  what  there  was  to  carry. 
The  largest  item  in  our  outfit  was  our  bedding. 
Every  person  had  not  fewer  than  three  heavy, 
woolen  army  blankets,  and  most  of  the  women  had 
twice  as  many ;  but  six  were  frequently  insufficient. 
Then  there  was  the  irreducible  minimum  of  luggage 
which  the  nurses  had  to  carry.  This  was  usually 
rolled  up  in  the  blankets,  and  a  piece  of  rubber 
sheeting  tied  over  the  outside  as  a  protection  from 
the  rain  and  snow.  Fortunately,  the  unit  had  evac- 
uated Kragujevats  with  large  quantities  of  rubber 
sheeting.  Had  it  not  been  so,  they  would  oftener 
than  not  have  slept  in  soaked  blankets.  We 
gathered  together  three  days'  rations,  consisting 
of  two  loaves  of  bread,  tea,  coffee,  and  a  little  bit 


340        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

of  sugar,  a  can  of  Oxo,  and  two  small  tins  of  con- 
densed milk,  for  each  person.  Every  one  was  sup- 
posed to  see  to  the  carrying  of  his  own  provisions. 
In  addition,  there  was  a  community  cheese,  a 
glorious  cheese,  three  pounds  of  oleomargarine,  a 
few  tins  of  bully-beef,  and  a  little  extra  milk.  The 
remainder  of  the  stores,  which  had  been  carefully 
hoarded  because  none  knew  what  lay  ahead,  we 
could  not  take  with  us,  and  gave  away.  We  had 
been  told  it  was  three  days  to  Androvitze,  and  we 
believed  it.  At  Androvitze  a  wagon-road  led  to 
Scutari.  There  were  rumors  of  Montenegrin 
autos  awaiting  us  there.  Thus  our  provisions 
would  be  sufficient,  we  thought.  It  was  little 
enough  for  a  party  of  fifty  to  start  off  with  on  a 
journey  through  the  most  barren  part  of  barren 
Montenegro.  We  thought  to  find  provisions  of 
some  sort  at  Androvitze.  For  fifteen  days,  how- 
ever, we  had  to  live  on  the  country,  never  having  the 
slightest  idea  where  our  next  meal  was  coming 
from,  but  frequently  knowing  that  it  would  not 
come  at  all. 

Light  as  our  possessions  were,  when  we  came  to 
pack  the  horses,  they  seemed  endless.  The  giant 
Montenegrin  whom  we  had  retained  as  a  guide, 
Nikola  Pavlovitch,  was  the  only  pack-horse  expert 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     343 

among  our  men,  and  he  could  not  pack  twenty 
horses.  Packing  a  horse  properly  is  far  more  diffi- 
cult than  higher  mathematics.  To  begin  with,  it 
requires  a  born  diplomat  to  persuade  the  owner  of 
the  pack  to  throw  away  half  of  his  belongings  be- 
fore the  packing  is  begun,  and  half  of  the  residue 
after  the  first  tumble.  In  the  second  place,  one 
must  be  an  animal-trainer  to  conquer  those  moun- 
tain ponies;  third,  only  a  juggler  with  a  wire-walk- 
ing instinct  of  balance  and  with  a  stock  of  patience 
such  as  would  make  Job  look  like  an  irascible  edi- 
tor, is  adequate  for  this  work.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  perfection  in  the  art.  A  perfect  pack  is 
a  purely  hypothetical  joy.  It  is  an  intangible, 
spiritual  ideal  to  the  outer  court  of  whose  sanctuary 
Nikola  approached,  while  the  rest  of  us  floundered 
in  pagan  darkness.  I  say  "us,"  because  I  deter- 
mined to  pack  Rosinante  myself.  Rosinante  was 
a  horse  I  had  bought ;  more  about  her  later.  After 
two  hours  I  turned  out  a  job  that  stopped  Nikola, 
passing  by,  and  made  him  exclaim  in  horror.  He 
acted  as  if  I  had  blasphemed  the  cult  of  horse- 
packing  by  what,  to  me,  looked  like  a  masterpiece 
of  cunning  and  ingenuity.  Nikola  was  wise.  He 
did  not  argue;  he  said  nothing.  He  simply  seized 
the  bridal  and  led  Rosinante  at  a  fast  walk  for  ten 


344       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

yards.  Then  Rosinante  found  herself  in  what  she 
must  have  felt  to  be  an  exceedingly  undignified  and 
embarrassing  position.  She  was  low  and  short ;  the 
pack,  as  I  had  created  it,  was  high  and  bulky. 
When  it  neatly  slipped  under  her  belly  she  was 
pivoted  on  it,  her  toes — she  had  toes  I  know,  or 
later  she  could  not  have  done  all  she  did — barely 
touching  the  ground.  Nikola  started  to  untie  my 
pack,  but  grew  faint  before  the  maze  of  knots,  and 
slashed  the  ropes.  In  ten  minutes  he  had  my  stuff 
and  some  more  besides  on  Rosinante,  and  his  pack 
was  perhaps  a  third  as  large  as  mine.  Nikola  was 
severely  classic  in  his  pack  building.  I  fear  mine 
leaned — leaned  is  the  right  word — toward  the  most 
flamboyant  of  Gothic  creations. 

I  am  going  to  detail  the  costume  which  I  finally 
assumed  at  Ipek.  Not  because  it  was  typical,  but 
because  it  was  not.  Despite  the  fact  that  some  of 
the  nurses,  after  considering  the  peaks  before  them 
and  the  general  uselessness  of  skirts,  discarded  the 
latter  in  place  of  jackets  and  trousers  which  they 
themselves  had  fashioned  from  red,  brown,  and 
gray  blankets,  despite  the  well-known  eccentricities 
of  Albanian  and  Montenegrin  tailoring,  I  boldly 
lay  claim  to  being  quite  the  oddest  creature  in  the 
Balkans  at  that  moment.  Since  September  the 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     345 

iron  hand  of  circumstance  had  been  impelling  me 
toward  this  consummation.  I  had  come  out  pre- 
pared only  for  the  summer.  It  was  now  emphati- 
cally winter,  and  what  I  had  brought  from  New 
York  in  June  seemed  grotesque  at  Ipek  in  Decem- 
ber. It  had  not  been  possible  to  buy.  I  had  had 
to  forage,  plucking  my  fig-leaves  where  I  might. 
I  claimed  the  distinction  of  originating  the  prac- 
tice of  wearing  "Porosknit"  during  the  Ipek  win- 
ter season.  It  was  a  case  of  greatness  thrust 
upon  me.  As  for  hosiery,  my  wardrobe  contained 
at  this  date  one  pair  of  green  silk  socks.  These  I 
put  upon  my  feet,  and  over  them  a  pair  of  amor- 
phous gray  things  that  all  too  plainly  had  been 
knitted  at  the  opera  for  some  defenseless  refugee. 
I  thought  this  would  do,  but  when  I  had  to  buy  a 
pair  of  high  boots  three  sizes  too  large,  I  saw  it 
would  not.  I  went  into  the  town  and  secured  two 
pairs  of  real  Montenegrin  socks.  They  were 
hand-knit  of  thick  snow-white  wool.  One  pair 
was  sprinkled  with  embroidered  red  roses  and 
green  leaves.  The  other  had  a  mountain-scene, 
with  lakes,  forests,  rivers,  and  snowy  peaks,  very 
striking,  if  not  convincing.  The  design  was  not 
the  same  on  any  two  socks,  and  as  I  wore  both  pairs 
to  fill  up  the  boots,  this  was  a  convenience:  I  did 


346        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

not  have  to  worry  to  match  them.  I  still  had  some 
trousers.  In  the  deeps  of  my  bag,  secretly  hidden 
away  against  the  day  when  I  should  be  compelled 
to  plunge  once  more  into  civilization,  was  a  pair 
of  vivid-blue  summer  trousers  from  a  Broadway 
tailor.  They  were  old,  but  dear  to  my  heart,  and 
would,  if  cherished,  I  thought,  serve  very  well  in 
the  first  moment  of  reappearance  into  the  world. 
I  could  not  cherish  them  longer.  I  put  them  on, 
and  the  combination  with  the  socks  was  such  that 
I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  on  my  boots.  First,  how- 
ever, I  concealed  their  vivid  blue  under  a  pair  of 
English  refugee  trousers.  These  were  the  rem- 
nants of  the  suit  which  the  ox  had  butchered  weeks 
before.  They  were  made  of  brown  paper-thread 
reinforced  with  stiff  clay.  Over  them  I  placed  a 
third  pair  of  trousers,  stout,  but  stained,  khaki,  the 
product  of  a  degenerate  tailor  in  Athens. 

I  had  only  flimsy  brown  shirts  meant  for  the 
warm  weather,  but  I  received  as  a  gift  a  lovely 
garment  of  heavy  gray  flannel.  It  was  a  lady's 
shirt,  perpetrated  by  school-girls  in  some  neutral 
land  for  what  must  have  been  their  ideal  of  the 
fattest  woman  in  the  world.  In  the  neck  they  had 
allowed  for  ample  room.  When  I  buttoned  it,  it 
fell  away  as  gracefully  as  a  hangman's-noose.  I 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     347 

could  easily  have  crawled  right  out  through  the 
neck  of  the  shirt.  Decollete  was  not  en  regie 
then,  so  I  gathered  the  collar  up  like  the  mouth  of 
a  meal-sack  and  secured  it  with  a  safety-pin. 
This  curious  rosette-like  bunch  out  of  which  my 
head  emerged  was  all  of  the  shirt  that  appeared 
to  a  cruel  world,  for  I  wore  two  sweaters.  The 
first,  counted  from  inward  outward,  was  of  white 
near-wool,  cut  like  a  Jersey,  with  no  collar.  The 
second  was  a  heavy  gray  woolen  coat  sweater  of 
excellent  quality,  but  distressingly  ragged. 

One  more  touch  was  added  to  my  costume  be- 
fore I  put  on  the  nondescript  gift-coat  mentioned 
before.  Remember  it  was  cold  in  Ipek,  and  every 
one  knew  the  temperature  there  would  not  be  a  cir- 
cumstance to  what  it  would  be  on  the  mountain- 
top.  In  the  general  ransacking  that  preceded  the 
transfer  from  carts  to  pack-horses,  the  nurses  un- 
earthed many  things,  some  of  which  were  showered 
upon  me.  I  had  four  "cholera-belts."  These  are 
broad  knitted  bands  of  wool  with  clasps  at  the  ends, 
and  are  intended  to  be  fastened  securely  around 
the  abdomen.  They  were  the  easiest  things  to  take 
off  or  put  on  as  the  temperature  required,  so  I  wore 
them  on  the  outside.  One  was  deep  lavender,  one 
was  orange,  one  was  coral  pink,  and  one  was  green. 


348        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

I  buttoned  the  orange  one  under  my  arms,  then  the 
others  followed,  overlapping  one  another,  the 
lavender  one  being  drawn  about  the  hips  like  the 
scarfs  that  Spanish  dancers  affect.  They  gave 
me  the  torso  of  a  brilliant  segmented  bug.  At  last 
came  the  coat,  which  flapped  about  my  knees  and 
enveloped  my  hands  in  long  and  shapeless  sleeves. 
It  had  been  a  nice  coat,  it  was  a  gift  coat;  never 
look  a  gift-coat  in  the  lining. 

Drawn  over  my  head  I  wore  a  gray,  crocheted 
"slumber-helmet."  This  is  an  affair  much  on  the 
order  of  an  aviator's  cap  or  a  medieval  hood  of 
mail.  It  was  splendid  for  the  ears  and,  in  con- 
junction with  the  meal-sack  shirt,  kept  the  throat 
very  warm.  On  top  of  it  I  wore  my  broad-brimmed 
felt  cow-boy  hat,  tied  with  shoestrings  to  the  back 
of  my  head.  By  the  time  I  had  dressed  on  the 
morning  of  our  departure  I  was  dizzy  with  trying 
to  remember  what  I  had  on,  and  as  for  realizing 
just  what  I  looked  like,  it  was  impossible.  After 
one  glance,  an  Irish  nurse  enlightened  me.  For 
the  first  and  only  time  I  saw  her  perplexed;  but 
only  for  an  instant  did  she  study  me  as  if  trying  to 
remember  something. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  she  said;  "you  look  like  a  piece  of 
French  pastry  with  a  nut  on  top." 


THE  ARMY  THAT  CANNOT  DIE     349 

Nineteen  days  later,  in  that  identical  costume, 
but  a  good  deal  the  worse  for  wear,  my  landscape 
socks  peeping  out  through  my  toeless  boots,  and  a 
four-weeks'  growth  on  my  face,  I  drove  up  one 
Sunday  morning  to  a  gilded  Roman  hotel  in  the 
Via  Ludovise,  and,  unflinchingly  stepping  out  of 
my  fiacre,  faced  the  obsequious  liveried  staff.  I 
have  not  been  decorated  for  it,  but  that  is  no  proof 
that  I  do  not  deserve  it. 

In  the  end  the  horses  were  packed,  and  about 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  December  first,  un- 
der an  entirely  cloudless  sky,  we  began  to  worm 
our  way  through  the  crowded  town.  Several  packs 
were  scraped  off  in  the  crush,  and  these  delayed 
us  almost  an  hour;  but  in  the  outskirts  the  crowd 
lessened  and,  dropping  into  the  single-file  order 
of  march  that  we  were  to  follow  for  many  days, 
we  passed  out  on  the  ice-covered  road  that  led  to 
our  mountain-trail.  In  the  edge  of  the  town 
whom  should  I  meet  but  the  daring  Peter?  He 
embraced  me  with  emotion,  remarked  apropos  of 
nothing  at  all  that  he  considered  me  a  wonderful 
chauffeur,  and  struck  me  for  another  napoleon, 
if  not  in  the  same  breath,  at  any  rate  with  a  swift- 
ness that  took  mine. 

Soon  we  passed  the  place  where  the  automobiles 


350       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

had  gone  over,  the  nurses  wondering  at  the  twisted 
wrecks  below.  They  were  to  get  used  to  twisted 
wrecks  in  the  next  few  days — wrecks  of  pack- 
trains  dotted  with  human  bodies.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  the  trail  we  faced  about  due  west  up  the 
profound  crag-shadowed  valley  of  the  Lim,  a  rush- 
ing mountain  torrent  that  filled  the  whole  canon 
with  sound,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  speak.  The 
trail  led  under  overhanging  walls  of  rock  a  thou- 
sand feet  high,  and  beyond,  through  a  vista  of 
pines  and  gray  aiguilles,  were  the  high  mountains 
in  gleaming,  receding  ranks.  There,  faintly  above 
the  voice  of  the  Lim,  came  the  voice  of  the  big 
guns.  We  did  not  know  it,  but  we  were  hearing 
them  for  the  last  time.  An  hour  later  they  came 
to  us  no  longer.  Those  women  might  freeze,  they 
might  starve,  bandits  might  get  them,  they  might 
even  tumble  over  a  precipice,  but  they  had  out- 
distanced the  Teutonic  thunder. 


W 


CHAPTER  XI 

OVER   THE   MOUNTAINS 

HEN  we  left  the  sound  of  the  German 


battle-line  on  the  Montenegrin  trail  it 
was  just  about  six  weeks  since  I  had  evacuated 
Valjevo  with  the  Christitch  party.  Then  the  Ger- 
man army  had  been  a  good  twenty  or  twenty-five 
kilometers  away.  In  these  six  weeks  they  had 
fought  their  way  through  Serbia  under  a  con- 
tinual rain  that  turned  such  roads  as  the  country 
possessed  into  ribbons  of  swamp  worse  than  the 
fields  and  mountains  through  which  they  ran. 
With  the  aid  of  no  railway,  they  had  had  to  pro- 
vision their  troops  almost  entirely  from  Austria. 
They  had  marched  through  densely  wooded  hills 
and  through  barren  mountain-passes,  constructing 
bridges  as  they  went.  In  the  last  part  of  the  march 
they  had  faced  terrific  winter.  We  had  marched 
ahead  of  them.  There  was  nothing  in  particular 
detaining  us  except  necessary  rest  for  the  weaker. 
Our  business  was  to  get  away.  After  six  weeks 
the  German  army  had  gained  ten  or  fifteen  kilo- 
meters on  us.  They  were  not  farther  than  that 

351 


352       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

from  Ipek.  The  secret  of  this  rapid  advance  was 
superior  artillery  and  aeroplanes.  They  stood 
safely  out  of  range,  and  accurately  knocked  the 
Serbian  positions  to  pieces.  We  thought,  however, 
that  the  mountains  would  hold  them  for  a  while, 
and  when  they  did  come  into  Montenegro,  it  would 
be  from  Prijepolje  in  the  north  and  Cattaro  on  the 
coast. 

In  choosing  the  mountains  rather  than  the  Ger- 
mans, the  nurses  undoubtedly  made  as  great  a 
gamble  as  they  ever  will,  no  matter  how  near  the 
front  they  go,  and  all  were  determined  to  go  back 
to  war  as  soon  as  they  were  reequipped.  They 
were  gambling  on  the  weather  in  December,  on  the 
mountains  of  Montenegro.  If  the  weather  re- 
mained as  it  was  that  morning,  all  had  excellent 
chances  of  coming  through.  If  a  blizzard  like  the 
one  we  had  faced  coming  into  Ipek  or  the  snow- 
storm we  had  weathered  on  the  "Field  of  Black- 
birds" caught  them  on  the  high  precipices,  only  the 
very  strongest  of  them  had  any  chance,  and  that 
was  very  meager.  It  is  hard  to  realize  just  how 
deserted  and  wild  those  mountains  are,  and  just 
how  slender,  makeshift,  and  primitive  are  the  com- 
munications between  Ipek  and  Androvitze.  Only 
at  long  intervals  on  the  trail  are  there  places  where 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          353 

it  is  even  possible  to  lie  down.  The  precipices  are 
on  the  one  hand,  the  steep  mountain-side  out  of 
which  the  path  has  been  cut  on  the  other.  Some- 
times there  are  trees  on  this  slope,  but  frequently 
not.  When  we  went  over,  two  or  three  feet  of 
snow  covered  the  ground.  It  would  have  been  ut- 
terly impossible  to  make  a  camp  along  the  higher 
parts  of  that  trail.  It  would  have  been  equally 
impossible  to  go  ahead  on  the  path  that  was  like 
polished  glass.  We  could  not  have  had  a  fire. 
The  horses  would  certainly  have  fallen  over  the 
cliffs,  our  food  would  have  been  lost,  and  those  who 
did  not  freeze  would  have  starved.  Strong  Mon- 
tenegrins might  have  come  through  it ;  those  weak- 
ened English  women  would  have  little  chance. 
For  three  days  this  gamble  lasted.  The  weather 
we  had  was  remarkable  for  that  season,  almost  un- 
precedented. Had  nature  been  in  a  different 
mood,  there  is  no  doubt  at  all  that  England  would 
have  mourned  the  death  of  all  those  women  in  a 
single  day.  Everybody  appreciated  the  chance 
keenly,  consequently  no  one  mentioned  it  until  we 
arrived  at  Androvitze.  Then  they  looked  back  at 
the  upheaved  barrier  which  they  had  crossed  and 
unanimously  shuddered.  "Good  heavens!  if  win- 
ter had  caught  us  there!"  they  said. 


354        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

There  are  two  routes  from  Ipek  to  Androvitze. 
The  one  we  took  is  supposed  to  be  shorter,  steeper, 
and  more  dangerous.  We  took  it  on  the  advice  of 
Nikola,  for  everybody  else  in  the  place  said  that, 
ice-covered  as  it  was,  it  would  be  impassable,  and 
many  who  had  started  that  way  had  turned  back. 
It  is  the  path  by  way  of  Chakar.  The  other  trail 
was  being  used  by  the  army  and  refugees.  That 
is  why  Nikola  advised  the  shorter  one  for  us.  He 
was  undoubtedly  right.  He  said  he  would  guar- 
antee it  was  not  impassable  and  where  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  danger  he  would  lead  the  horses  across 
one  by  one.  Nikola  had  his  nerve.  He  went 
ahead  as  a  scout,  and  chose  our  stopping-places  for 
the  night.  In  the  mountains  he  was  invaluable. 

A  small  party  of  nurses,  including  the  three  who 
had  formerly  been  with  me,  accompanied  by  two 
Englishmen  and  some  attendants,  left  Ipek  a  day 
earlier  than  we,  but  by  the  army  route.  They  had 
a  horrible  time.  On  one  occasion  they  tramped 
from  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  two  o'clock 
the  next  morning  in  search  of  shelter,  and  finally 
shared  an  old  shed  crowded  with  soldiers,  who  had 
built  a  fire.  Had  they  stopped  sooner  they  would 
have  frozen  to  death.  One  of  these  women  was 
well  past  middle  age.  Such  things  as  this  by  such 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          357 

women  are  not  done  by  physical  strength,  but  by 
an  indomitable  sporting  will  power.  Under  such 
conditions  it  is  vastly  easier  to  lie  down  and  die. 

Some  French,  Russian,  and  Norwegian  nurses 
also  faced  these  ordeals,  but  in  general  suffered 
less,  I  think,  because  they  came  through  earlier. 
There  were  four  Norwegian  girls  with  us.  The 
mountains  were  home  to  them,  and  they  invariably 
led  the  pack.  Only  Nikola  could  outdistance 
them.  They  looked  and  felt  their  best  climbing  up 
or  racing  down  steep  places. 

Those  who  took  the  army  route  saw  sights  more 
terrible  than  those  we  saw.  With  us  mainly  it  was 
pack-horses  that  we  looked  down  on,  dashed  to 
death  at  the  foot  of  the  precipices.  The  other 
route  was  full  of  human  wreckage,  with  officers, 
soldiers,  artillery,  and  horses  jumbled  together  in 
the  gorges  below  them,  and  dead  refugees  lying 
on  the  slopes  above  them.  We  met  numerous 
wounded  soldiers,  stragglers,  hardy  mountain 
refugees,  and  military  couriers.  There  were  not 
enough  to  inconvenience  us.  We  had  that  for- 
bidding trail  pretty  much  to  ourselves.  Trusting 
to  Nikola,  we  clung  to  the  icy  thread  that  led  al- 
ways to  wilder  and  more  remote  mountain  refuges. 

Whatever  might  lie  before  us,  we  considered  the 


358       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

present  hour,  and  found  it  good  as  we  followed 
the  gradually  ascending  path  that  was  now  hunt- 
ing determinedly  for  a  way  out  of  the  gorge  in 
order  to  run  along  the  ridges  above.  The  sun  con- 
tinued to  beat  down  on  us,  and  the  snow  melted  a 
bit,  ameliorating  the  aggravating  slipperiness  of 
our  path.  The  exertion  of  climbing  warmed  us 
up,  too,  so  that  I  began  to  regret  the  thoroughness 
with  which  I  had  dressed.  At  the  top  of  a  spe- 
cially steep  climb  I  stopped  to  wait  for  a  group  of 
the  nurses  toiling  up  behind  me.  They  were  part 
of  the  Irish  contingent,  and  scrambled  up  the  slip- 
pery incline  with  true  Gaelic  abhorrence.  They 
had  on  heavy  coats  and  sweaters  and  knitted  hoods 
and  thick  mitts,  so  that  all  I  could  see  of  the  real 
Irish  was  a  small  patch  of  face.  Blowing  and 
puffing,  the  foremost,  and  the  most  insuppressible, 
reached  the  top.  Under  her  woolen  helmet  her 
forehead  streamed  with  perspiration,  and  she  began 
tearing  off  her  thick  gloves  before  she  stopped 
scrambling.  She  looked  like  an  Arctic  explorer. 
"Oh,  isn't  the  heat  terrible!"  she  panted,  and  sat 
down  in  a  snow-drift. 

It  was  terrible,  and  grew  more  inconvenient  as 
noon  approached.  With  the  afternoon,  however, 
the  chill  of  the  mountains  came  on,  and  we  were 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          359 

glad  of  our  elaborate  arrangements  to  meet  it. 
Only  once  in  the  day-time  did  we  suffer  from  cold 
while  crossing  the  mountains.  Then  it  was  for  the 
two  or  three  hours  when  we  were  crossing  the  bald 
snow-fields  of  Chakar,  a  mountain  that  is  swept  by 
gales  from  every  direction  and  which  is  on  the 
divide  between  the  Adriatic  and  the  ^Egean. 

We  never  stopped  for  a  midday  meal  in  the 
mountains.  We  had  neither  the  time  nor  the  meal. 
As  we  trudged  along,  we  gnawed  on  pieces  of  sol- 
diers' biscuit  or  stale  bread,  and  yery  delicious  it 
was,  too.  We  had  got  a  comparatively  late  start, 
so  that  the  ice  had  time  to  thaw  a  little,  making  it 
possible  for  the  horses  to  keep  on  their  feet  nearly 
all  the  time.  Of  course  half  a  dozen  packs  or  so  fell 
off  just  at  first,  but  after  a  while  each  driver 
learned  the  one  position  in  which  his  pack  would 
ride,  and  our  trouble  in  that  direction  lessened. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
we  began  to  descend  once  more  into  the  narrow 
valley.  Here  it  was  sufficiently  widened  out  to 
allow  the  "road"  to  run  along  the  morass  of 
rounded  boulders  which  ages  of  furious  floods  had 
piled  there.  This  valley  was  spooky  enough. 
The  sun,  disappearing  behind  the  high  peaks  ahead, 
left  blue  shadows  among  the  pines  that  were  al- 


360        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

most  as  dark  as  night.  I  crunched  along  on  the 
snow,  now  and  then  stumbling  when  one  foot  would 
go  into  a  crevice  between  the  rocks.  Here  I  met  a 
specter.  I  was  alone.  I  had  forged  ahead  of  the 
party,  expecting  to  find  Nikola  and  the  camping- 
place  soon.  Intent  only  on  watching  my  footing, 
I  was  startled  by  a  cry  out  of  the  shadows  on  my 
right.  "Americano,  Americano"  it  said,  and  then, 
"Dobrun,  Dobrun,  Americano,  Dobrun."  Out  of 
the  shadow  something  seized  my  arm,  and  on  the 
instant  I  saw  a  strange  Serbian  soldier  very  much 
the  worse  for  wear,  ragged,  emaciated,  hollow-eyed, 
but  smiling  pleasantly.  How  on  earth  he  had 
recognized  and  placed  me  I  did  not  know,  nor  could 
he  tell  me  very  clearly,  for  he  spoke  only  a  little 
French,  though  he  understood  it  fairly  well.  I 
asked  him  how  he  knew  me  as  an  American,  and 
he  pointed  to  my  hat.  None  but  an  American 
could  be  under  a  hat  like  that.  As  for  Dobrun, 
he  informed  that  he  had  been  there  when  we  were, 
and  was  one  of  "the  captain's"  men.  He  was 
hurrying  back  from  Androvitze  to  Ipek  with  des- 
patches. He  had  messages  for  my  Dobrun  cap- 
tain, who,  he  informed  me,  had  been  at  Ipek  several 
days.  I  was  greatly  disappointed  that  I  had  not 
seen  my  good  friend  there,  but  meeting  this  soldier 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          361 

in  the  wilderness,  and  at  least  hearing  that  he  was 
not  dead,  made  the  whole  trip  more  cheerful. 

Nikola  had  made  heroic  efforts  to  get  us  shelter 
that  night  and,  considering  the  circumstances,  had 
succeeded  very  well.  Where  the  valley  spread  in- 
to a  little  flat  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long  and  a  third  as 
wide  were  two  Montenegrin  taverns  built  to  house 
the  natives  who  passed  that  way.  One  at  the  west 
end  of  the  flat  was  built  of  stone.  The  ground 
floor  was  a  stable  for  the  horses,  as  is  always  the 
case  in  small  Montenegrin  inns.  The  second  floor 
was  one  medium-sized  room,  without  any  furniture 
to  speak  of,  and  a  tiny  kitchen,  with  a  stove  built 
into  the  wall.  Fifty  or  sixty  people  had  engaged 
accommodations  there  for  the  night,  and  though 
the  landlord  was  perfectly  willing  to  take  us,  too, 
as  Nikola  quite  seriously  put  it,  it  would  be  "a  little 
crowded."  The  other  edifice  stood  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  flat.  Its  first  story  was  also  built  of 
stone  and  used  as  a  stable.  On  top  of  this  a  wooden 
shack  had  been  erected.  There  was  one  fairly 
good-sized  room  with  four  windows,  an  old  stove, 
and  some  benches.  A  second  room  adjoined  it,  but 
was  only  about  a  third  as  large,  and  there  were  two 
tiny  rooms  like  cupboards.  Also  there  was  a  loft 
filled  with  hay.  By  lying  like  sticks  in  a  wood- 


362        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

pile  all  the  women  could  have  slept  in  the  big  room, 
which  Nikola  had  procured  for  their  benefit.  The 
cracks  in  the  floor  allowed  the  steaming  air  from 
the  stable  underneath  to  spread  to  the  chamber 
above. 

On  the  ground  all  about  the  place  was  deep  snow, 
but  the  weather  was  perfectly  clear.  Eight  of 
the  women  said  they  would  sleep  on  the  snow 
more  comfortably  than  in  the  hotel,  "Hotel  de 
1'Ecurie"  we  called  it.  Soon  after  we  had  partaken 
of  abundant  tea  and  coffee,  and  of  cheese  and  tinned 
meat  sparingly,  I  found  them  spreading  their 
blankets  upon  the  smooth  snow.  A  hilarious  mood 
prevailed.  They  were  in  for  something  which 
generations  of  their  ancestors  had  never  done. 
They  had  slept  in  every  conceivable  place  and  con- 
dition except  right  on  the  snow,  and  now  they  were 
going  to  do  that.  There  was  no  acting;  they  were 
really  hilarious.  They  had  tramped  only  ten  con- 
tinuous hours,  and  had  dined  on  what  at  home  they 
would  never  have  touched.  They  had  only  four- 
teen hours  of  march  to  do  next  day. 

With  their  insufficient  blankets  spread  neatly  on 
the  snow,  I  saw  them  come  up  to  the  cook's  fire, 
where  three  kettles  of  water  were  now  boiling. 
From  the  little  rucksacks  which  they  carried,  each 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          363 

drew  out  a  hot-water  bottle  and  with  the  best  bed- 
room air  of  comfort  filled  it !  Side  by  side  with  my 
enigma  of  why  England  is  not  run  by  her  women 
stands  my  enigma  of  the  hot-water  bottle.  It  was 
not  the  first  or  the  last  time  that  I  saw  that  perform- 
ance. They  carried  hot-water  bottles  to  bed  with 
them  when  they  slept  as  the  little  tinned  sardines 
are  thought  to  sleep ;  they  carried  them  when  they 
went  to  bed  on  the  dry  grass;  they  filled  the  kettles 
from  rivulets,  and  heated  them  in  the  shelter  of  a 
wagon  when  their  bed  was  to  be  in  the  puddles 
about  the  wagon;  no  harem  resting-place  was  com- 
plete until  the  astonished  old  Turk  had  brought 
enough  hot  water  to  fill  forty  bottles.  When  they 
finally  got  on  board  ship  to  cross  the  Adriatic  at  its 
most  dangerous  point,  while  submarines  were  chas- 
ing them,  they  ferreted  out  the  ship's  galley,  filled 
their  hot-water  bottles,  lay  down  on  deck,  and  slept 
or  were  sick  as  the  case  might  be.  No  matter  what 
happened,  I  never  heard  one  of  them  grumble  as 
long  as  she  had  a  bottle  magically  warm.  No  mat- 
ter what  our  good  luck,  I  never  saw  one  satisfied 
when  she  could  not  have  her  bottle  filled  at  bed- 
time. I  believe  if  the  British  Government  would 
furnish  every  militant  suffragette  with  a  nice,  warm 
hot- water  bottle  every  evening,  they  would  be  found 


864       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

as  docile  as  lambs.  Going  to  bed  with  three 
blankets  on  that  snow,  and  carefully  preparing  a 
hot-water  bottle,  seemed  to  me  like  Jess  Willard 
having  his  hair  curled  before  a  championship  fight. 
It  seemed  to  me  fated  to  be  about  the  most  transient 
pleasure  I  had  ever  met,  but  if  it  made  women  like 
those  happy,  nothing  under  heaven  was  too  dear 
to  buy  it. 

My  view  of  the  matter  amused  them  immensely, 
but  they  heartily  disagreed  with  it.  They  said  not 
only  was  a  hot-water  bottle  a  fine  thing  to  sleep 
with,  but  in  the  cold  mornings  before  the  march 
began  the  water  still  retained  enough  warmth  to 
make  it  agreeable  for  a  wash.  Next  morning  one 
let  me  try  it,  and  what  she  said  was  true.  After 
that  lots  of  them  wanted  to  lend  me  a  bottle.  They 
nearly  all  had  extra  ones.  They  had  thrown  away 
their  clothing,  their  precious  souvenirs,  they  could 
not  carry  as  much  food  as  they  needed;  but  they 
had  extra  hot- water  bottles ! 

A  bell  tent  had  been  brought  along  in  case  we 
had  to  camp  where  there  were  no  houses  at  all.  It 
occurred  to  me  that  this,  spread  as  a  ground  sheet 
over  a  lot  of  hay,  would  aid  the  hot- water  bottles. 
So  I  searched  it  out.  From  the  landlord,  a  stingy 
old  codger  who  had  charged  only  twenty  dollars 


•£T  v.  ,  ^*vv/.  /-'tfi^ 


Trackless  mountains  of  Albania 


A  mountain  home  in  Montenegro 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          367 

for  that  stable,  more  than  he  would  ordinarily  make 
in  a  year,  I  bought  some  hay,  and  soon  had  a  fairly 
decent  place  for  the  eight  to  sleep  side  by  side. 
They  at  once  declared  it  the  best  bed  they  had  had 
in  a  long  while.  There  appeared  to  be  a  scarcity 
of  fire-wood  about  "Hotel  de  1'Ecurie,"  though 
there  was  no  excuse  for  it,  because  the  mountains 
round  about  were  well  wooded.  This  had  deterred 
the  women  from  having  a  fire  at  their  feet.  One 
does  not  sleep  out  many  times  without  discovering 
that  a  fire  at  one's  feet  is  a  luxury  that  should  not 
be  missed.  While  making  an  excursion  down  the 
stream,  I  came  upon  a  big  pile  of  fat  pine  planks. 
They  were  hidden  there,  with  heavy  rocks  piled  on 
them.  Not  wishing  further  to  annoy  the  landlord, 
as  quietly  as  possible  I  dragged  about  nine  tenths 
of  this  lumber  to  our  "camp."  Then  we  had  a 
great  fire,  which,  so  the  nurses  said,  was  the  final 
touch  to  their  comfort.  But  my  sins  came  home  to 
roost. 

On  a  carpenter's-table  which  I  dragged  from 
the  side  of  the  inn  I  lay  down  by  the  side  of  the  fire 
to  sleep.  What  little  wind  there  was  blew  the  fire 
away  from  the  women  toward  my  table.  I  had 
piled  the  most  massive  planks  I  could  find  along 
the  edge  of  their  bed  to  guard  against  the  fire 


368        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

spreading  there.  In  my  position  I  got  the  warm 
air  with  but  little  smoke,  which  floated  above  me, 
and  soon  with  the  others  I  was  asleep. 

I  closed  my  eyes  on  the  wonderful  Montenegrin 
sky,  sprinkled  with  its  magnificent  stars,  and  on 
the  glittering  peaks  about  us.  The  women,  I  fancy, 
were  already  at  home  again  in  quiet  old  Edinburgh, 
in  London,  wonderful  London  as  it  was  before 
1914,  living  their  wonted  lives  in  the  Scotch  High- 
lands or  amid  the  wild  beauty  of  Wales.  I,  too, 
dreamed.  Despite  the  dead  slumber  which  fatigue 
brought  to  us,  we  always  dreamed,  mostly  of  home, 
seldom  of  war.  I  remember  distinctly  I  had  dined 
at  an  uptown  restaurant.  I  was  going  to  hear 
"Siegfried."  At  One  Hundred  and  Fourth  Street 
and  Broadway  I  got  into  a  taxi,  and  directed  the 
chauffeur  to  drive  as  fast  as  possible  to  the  Metro- 
politan. It  was  cold  in  the  taxi.  I  looked  to  see 
if  the  windows  were  up.  They  were,  but  it  grew 
colder,  while  Broadway  became  brighter  and 
brighter.  I  thought  I  had  never  in  my  life  seen 
the  city  so  brilliant,  animated,  gay.  At  Sixty-sixth 
Street  the  glare  seemed  to  hurt  my  eyes,  and,  as 
we  rounded  Columbus  Circle,  the  illumination  be- 
came a  blinding  flash,  rising  and  falling,  flickering, 
but  extending  everywhere.  I  woke  up,  and  my 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          369 

first  impression  was  that  I  was  much  colder  than 
when  I  lay  down.  Also  the  whole  place  was  filled 
with  bright  light  that  made  the  snow  glisten.  In  a 
few  seconds  I  took  in  what  had  happened.  The 
wind  had  shifted  away  from  me,  had  caused  the 
barrier  to  catch  fire,  and  the  edge  of  the  women's 
palet  was  blazing  high.  Due  to  the  snow  under- 
neath, the  flame  could  be  easily  stamped  out,  and 
when  there  was  only  smoking  straw,  for  the  first 
time  I  became  aware  that  not  one  of  the  women 
had  waked  up.  The  edge  of  the  straw,  the  tent, 
the  fringes  of  their  rugs,  were  burnt  within  six 
inches  of  their  feet.  They  were  sleeping  as  calmly 
as  ever.  That  is  what  fatigue  and  cold  mountain 
air  will  do. 

I  raked  the  fire  farther  away,  fixed  a  new  barrier, 
heavily  plastered  with  snow,  which,  melting,  would 
keep  it  wet,  and  convinced  that  everything  was  all 
right,  I  lay  down  again  without  waking  any  one. 
I  had  not  intended  going  to  sleep,  but  after  moving 
my  table  nearer  to  the  fire,  for  it  was  now  incredibly 
cold  in  the  valley,  I  dozed  off  again.  I  heard  the 
huge  icicles  that  hung  from  an  old  mill-sluice  near 
by  snapping  and  cracking,  and  the  trees  on  the 
mountain-side  crackled  and  popped  with  the  frost. 
The  women  told  me  later  they  were  having  various 


370       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

dreams  with  one  common  characteristic:  in  all  of 
them  their  feet  were  delightfully  comfortable — 
"All  cozy  and  warm,"  one  said. 

I  do  not  think  I  dreamed  any  more,  but  after  a 
while  I  waked  up.  It  was  the  second  time  in  my 
life  that  I  ever  understood  what  people  seem  to 
mean  when  they  talk  of  "Providence."  The  other 
time  was  also  in  Serbia.  Sir  Ralph  Paget  and  I 
were  motoring  on  one  of  the  most  thrilling  roads  in 
Bosnia.  There  was  the  usual  tremendous  precipice 
on  one  side,  the  lip  of  the  road  being  only  crumbling 
dirt.  What  looked  like  a  horrible  death  came  to 
an  officer  on  horseback  just  as  we  passed  him.  Sir 
Ralph  was  in  the  front  seat  with  me.  For  perhaps 
twenty  seconds  we  both  looked  back,  sick  with  the 
horror  of  what  we  had  seen.  There  was  a  slight 
curve  in  the  road  just  ahead,  but  I  had  not  noticed 
this.  What  made  me  turn  round  again  at  the  end 
of  certainly  not  more  than  twenty  seconds  I  do 
not  know.  I  had  not  finished  looking  behind;  I 
had  forgotten  for  the  time  all  sense  of  danger. 
But  a  feeling  I  shall  never  forget  turned  my  head, 
as  if  by  force,  without  any  thought  on  my  part,  to 
the  road  ahead.  There  was  not  any  road  there. 
Over  the  steaming  radiator  I  looked  down,  down, 
down  on  feathery  treetops  waving  in  an  abyss.  My 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          371 

radiator  was  hanging  over  the  cliff.  As  I  spun  the 
wheel,  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  the  car  would 
answer;  I  knew  my  front  wheels  were  already  over. 
They  were  not.  With  the  fountain-pen  that  is  now 
writing  these  words  the  distance  between  my  track 
in  the  crumbling  dirt  and  the  sheer  drop  was  meas- 
ured. When  the  butt  was  placed  on  the  outer  edge 
of  that  deep  rut,  the  point  jutted  into  space.  Sir 
Ralph  had  looked  round  when  I  had  spun  the  car. 

"We  were  n't  looking,"  he  said,  smiling  quietly, 
and  in  the  very  best  English  fashion  that  was  the 
end  of  the  matter. 

This  same  feeling  now  woke  me  up.  I  was  not 
cold ;  there  was  no  noise.  The  time  had  come  when 
somebody  ought  to  wake,  and  somebody  did.  The 
wind  had  freshened,  and  changed  more  directly  to- 
ward the  women.  My  barrier  had  caught  fire  again, 
and  the  dry  hay,  the  canvas,  and  the  rugs  beyond  it 
were  blazing,  while  the  wind  fanned  it  like  a  fur- 
nace. Almost  simultaneously  with  me  the  women 
awoke.  Most  of  them  were  tied  up  in  sleeping-bags 
which  they  had  sewn  their  blankets  into.  All  were 
tangled  up,  and  the  fire  was  simply  snapping  at 
them.  This  time  the  deep  snow  on  which  they  slept 
undoubtedly  saved  them  from  horrible  burns,  if  not 
from  death.  I  had  on  high  boots  of  heavy  leather, 


372        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

and  this  fact,  joined  with  the  deep  snow  and  my 
blanket  as  a  flail,  made  it  possible  to  put  out  the 
fire.  It  had  burned  the  lower  edges  of  their  cloth- 
ing, had  destroyed  their  shoes,  which  they  had  re- 
moved and  placed  near  their  feet,  and  had  burned 
about  half  their  rugs.  In  the  middle  of  this  tangle, 
— smoking  rugs,  bags,  woolen  scarfs,  tent  canvas 
and  straw, — out  of  which  they  could  not  extract 
themselves  they  sat  up  and  laughed.  Another  new 
experience !  Planning  how  to  borrow  one  another's 
extra  boots  for  the  march  in  the  morning,  they  fell 
asleep,  but  this  time  I  had  no  desire  to  neglect  that 
fire  again. 

It  had  not  been  what  one  would  call  a  peaceful 
night  for  us  around  the  fire,  though  those  within 
the  "hotel"  were  unaware  of  all  the  excitement. 
Just  before  dawn  the  final  foray  came.  There  was 
not  supposed  to  be  much  danger  from  bandits  on 
the  route  which  we  had  chosen,  especially  as  the 
Montenegrin  Government  had  taken  precautions 
to  police  it.  Still,  as  Nikola  had  expressed  it  to 
me,  whenever  we  went  into  camp  at  night,  "some 
of  those  dogs  would  be  pretty  likely  to  be  sneaking 
about."  As  I  lay  there  looking  up  at  the  paling 
sky,  I  was  startled  by  some  rifle-shots  a  little  way 
up  the  path  by  which  we  had  come.  Bullets  whistled 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          373 

through  the  forest,  and  a  rather  steady  crack,  crack 
kept  up  for  some  time  on  both  sides  of  the  valley. 
Everybody  was  startled,  and  none  knew  what  to 
expect;  but  the  firing  did  not  come  closer,  and  we 
never  discovered  what  was  the  occasion  of  it. 

When  we  got  under  way  this  second  day  a 
clammy  mist  enshrouded  everything  and  shut  off 
from  our  path  the  thawing  sunlight.  The  follow- 
ing four  or  five  hours  were  exceedingly  difficult. 
We  began  climbing  out  of  the  valley  almost  at  once 
by  a  forty-five-degree  ascent  which  "switch-backed" 
in  the  shortest  possible  distance  to  the  ridge  above. 
The  higher  up  we  climbed,  the  steeper  became 
the  path.  This  was  most  unfortunate.  The  lead- 
ing ponies  fell  down  and  slid  rapidly  backward, 
losing  their  packs  and  knocking  those  behind  off 
their  feet.  It  was  like  knocking  down  a  row  of 
dominoes  which  one  has  stood  on  end.  When  a 
front  pony  fell  hard,  it  was  "Look  out,  all  below! 
Stand  from  under,  and  get  away  from  the  precipice 
edge!"  As  many  as  six  or  eight  ponies  were  down 
at  once,  and  the  contents  of  their  packs  scattered 
everywhere,  while  the  rest  of  the  bunch  slipped 
and  pawed,  struggling  to  keep  their  balance.  Some 
of  the  nurses  helped  matters  by  going  ahead,  and 
with  butcher-knives,  hatchets,  and  bayonets  chip- 


374       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

ping  the  surface  of  the  ice.  Finally  pieces  of  blan- 
kets were  tied  about  the  horses'  hoofs,  and  this 
solved  the  problem  almost  completely. 

Rosinante  never  slipped  down.  From  Ipek  to 
Androvitze  she  bore  my  meager  luggage  and  much 
of  the  time  invalids  of  the  party,  and  she  never  so 
much  as  stumbled  badly.  I  think  every  other  horse 
was  down  at  least  once,  but,  despite  the  fact  (which 
I  had  discovered  only  after  I  bought  her)  that  her 
wind  was  broken,  and  on  every  slope  she  sounded 
like  a  second-hand  street-organ,  she  kept  on  her 
feet.  This  saved  me  much  trouble,  for  after  the 
first  day  I  led  her  myself,  and  had  she  slipped  like 
some  of  the  others,  I  would  have  been  there  yet, 
trying  to  put  the  pack  on  her  back. 

In  the  late  afternoon  we  came  up  a  narrow,  heav- 
ily wooded  gorge  of  marvelous  beauty  to  the  foot 
of  Chakar,  and  there  stopped  for  the  night  in  a 
stone  inn  which  was  not  large  or  clean,  but  dry  and 
warm.  Most  of  the  snow  was  gone  on  the  lower 
slopes  of  Chakar,  but  on  top  we  could  see  the  high 
winds  blowing  the  snow-clouds  about.  One  cannot 
skirt  about  the  lower  shoulders  of  this  mountain 
or  escape  its  highest  snow-fields.  The  way  to  the 
sea  leads  squarely  over  its  rounded  summit — a  way 
that  in  summer  must  be  a  delight  to  scramble  up, 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          377 

but  in  December  was  not  so  inviting.  Nikola  en- 
couraged us  with  cheerful  promises.  Once  over 
that  summit,  he  said,  all  our  way  to  the  sea  would 
be  "down-hill."  At  that  stage  of  our  march,  next 
to  flying,  "down-hill"  represented  the  summum  bo- 
num  to  us.  In  a  broad  geographical  sense  Nikola 
was  right.  Chakar  was  the  divide,  but  in  a  practical 
tracking  tramp's  understanding  of  the  case,  Heav- 
ens! he  was  a  liar!  He  did  not  mention  the  Little 
Kom.  If  he  had,  I  think  I  should  have  passed  the 
winter  on  the  Oriental  side  of  Chakar. 

Next  day  we  crossed  Chakar,  but  that  is  all  we 
did.  Like  a  famous  nursery  hero,  we  simply  went 
up  and  came  down  again.  That  night  we  passed 
in  a  Montenegrin  village.  All  that  I  can  remem- 
ber about  it  is  that  I  saw  here  a  most  beautiful 
child,  a  boy  of  ten  whose  father  had  just  been  shot; 
that  we  sat  around  a  camp-fire  while  the  Irish  girls 
sang  songs ;  and  that  Nikola  paid  forty  dollars  for 
enough  hay  to  feed  twenty  horses  two  times. 

The  fourth  day,  through  mud  the  like  of  which 
I  never  want  to  see  again,  we  came  to  Androvitze, 
only  to  find  no  provisions  there,  and  tc  hear  the 
glad  tidings  that  because  of  a  wash-out  no  automo- 
biles could  come  up.  From  then  on  began  a  tramp 
of  nine  days,  each  day  filled  with  hopes  that  the 


378       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

next  would  see  us  in  automobiles  or  carts.  They 
never  came;  we  walked  into  Podgoritze. 

Just  as  I  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to 
Rosinante's  saddle  before  leaving  Androvitze,  I 
felt  a  hand  fall  heavily  on  my  shoulder  and,  turning 
around,  beheld  eemon  clier  Capitaine"  him  of  the 
far-off,  happy  Dobrun  days.  The  captain  loves  his 
country,  and  so  do  I.  After  a  while,  when  we  did 
speak,  it  was  of  other  and  trivial  things.  We  prom- 
ised if  possible  to  meet  at  Podgoritze,  and  if  not 
there,  at  Scutari,  and  if  not  there,  in  Paris,  and,  as 
a  last  resort,  in  New  York.  The  captain's  physique 
and  stoicism  are  Serb ;  his  perfect  manner,  his  bon- 
liomie,  his  warm  humanity  are  French,  and  the  mix- 
ture makes  ffmon  cher  Capitaine"  a  very  charming 
companion.  There  is  nothing  Teutonic  about  him. 

The  moist,  warm  breath  of  the  Adriatic  came  up 
to  meet  us  at  Androvitze.  We  began  to  have  mists 
and  heavy  rains,  with  now  and  then  a  clear  day  and 
the  skies  of  southern  Italy.  The  invaders  and  the 
savage  mountains  were  behind,  and  somewhere 
down  the  very  good  road  that  now  led  on  before  us 
was  the  sea.  During  that  monotonous  succession 
of  days  before  we  came  to  Podgoritze,  the  sea  and 
how  we  should  get  across  it,  became  the  main  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  the  constant  thought  in  our 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          379 

minds.  For  weeks  the  sea  had  been  our  goal,  a 
practical  goal  to  us,  an  impossible  dream  of  escape 
to  the  starving  hundred  thousand  at  Prizrend.  Ru- 
mors began  to  float  up  to  us  by  courses  we  could  not 
trace  of  ships  that  would  take  us  to  Italy.  One 
said  that  all  would  have  to  go  down  the  coast  to 
Durazzo.  Several  told  of  an  American  sailing-ves- 
sel, the  Albania,  which  would  be  waiting  at  San 
Giovanni  di  Medua  to  take  off  all  neutrals,  all 
women  and  children,  and  the  men  who  were  over 
military  age.  The  rest  would  have  to  go  to  Du- 
razzo. Still  others  told  of  British  transports  wait- 
ing to  help  the  army  and  the  refugees,  and  some 
spoke  of  no  hope  at  all,  saying  that  the  Adriatic 
was  too  dangerous.  The  mythical  sailing-vessel 
was  the  favorite,  and  we  all  believed  in  it  more  than 
in  any  other. 

Then  one  day  a  young  Englishman  in  clean,  new 
khaki  came  riding  up  the  road  to  meet  us.  He  was 
a  representative  of  the  British  Serbian  Relief  Fund 
sent  out  to  survey  the  field  in  Montenegro.  Two 
weeks  before  he  had  been  in  London,  and  gave  us 
the  first  news  of  the  world  we  had  had  in  six  weeks. 
He  had  crossed  the  Adriatic  on  a  torpedo-boat, 
sending  his  luggage  by  a  small  vessel  which  had 
been  torpedoed.  He  brought  a  cryptic  message, 


380       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

saying  that  Sir  Ralph  Paget  wished  all  the  British 
to  hurry  to  Scutari  as  fast  as  possible.  This  was 
encouraging.  It  even  seemed  as  if  those  in  author- 
ity were  at  last  taking  cognizance  of  the  fact  that 
there  were  British  women  who  might  need  aid.  We 
almost  dared  to  hope  it  might  mean  a  break  in  the 
policy  of  laissez-faire,  which,  during  the  retreat,  had 
left  the  units  to  shift  for  themselves  as  best  they 
could,  with  the  purely  voluntary  aid  of  Serbians, 
who  brought  them  out  of  Serbia,  saw  to  housing 
and  provisioning  them,  and  made  them  as  safe  as 
possible.  The  things  which  a  British  representative 
might  have  done  for  them,  such  as  going  ahead  and 
securing  what  food  could  be  had,  seeing  to  accom- 
modations at  the  places  where  they  stopped,  collect- 
ing horses  at  Prizrend  and  Ipek,  establishing  tem- 
porary camps  in  the  mountains  at  easy  stages,  where 
on  arrival  the  women  might  have  found  tents  and 
plentiful  fires,  and  finally  some  semblance  of  system 
which  at  least  would  not  have  allowed  them  to  feel 
utterly  abandoned  by  their  own  Government  were 
not  done  at  all.  The  doctors  and  nurses  recognized 
early  that  they  could  stay  and  be  captured  or  starve 
without  any  apparent  concern  on  the  part  of  the 
officials  whom  they  had  thought  responsible  for 
them.  The  English  women  should  have  been  forced 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          381 

to  come  out  earlier  than  they  did,  and,  to  be  per- 
fectly fair,  I  understand  that  Sir  Ralph  Paget  sug- 
gested this  to  them,  but  they  refused.  After  they 
were  allowed  to  remain,  a  little  system,  a  little 
thought,  foresight,  and  trouble  could  have  alleviated 
immensely  their  hardships.  By  using  half  a  dozen 
men  and  horses,  fixed  camps  could  have  been  estab- 
lished which  would  have  rendered  the  mountain- 
trails  much  less  arduous.  Not  until  Scutari,  where 
there  was  a  British  consul,  did  anything  resembling 
official  aid  come  to  the  British  women,  and  here  it 
was  in  a  slipshod,  slap-dash  fashion. 

Soon  after  leaving  Androvitze  we  came  to  the 
Little  Kom,  a  mountain  rising  some  eight  thousand 
feet,  flanked  on  the  east  by  a  magnificent  snow  peak 
much  higher.  The  blizzard  that  had  struck  us  at 
Ipek  had  caught  many  refugees,  soldiers,  and  pris- 
oners here.  Forty  Bulgarians  are  said  to  have  been 
found  frozen  to  death  in  a  space  of  a  hundred  yards. 
Snow  lay  deep  upon  its  summit  when  we  climbed 
it,  but  in  the  valleys  below  the  day  was  like  early 
autumn.  After  the  Little  Kom,  Nikola's  oft-re- 
peated promise  of  a  down-hill  trail  became  more  or 
less  true.  It  was  our  last  really  hard  climb,  and 
I  was  not  sorry,  for  going  up  it  I  fainted  three 
times,  a  thing  I  never  knew  I  could  do  before. 


382       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

The  weaker  women  rode  up,  but  one  was  so  afraid 
of  horses  she  would  not  mount.  I  shall  never  for- 
get her  at  the  end  of  that  day;  but  no  one  heard  a 
word  of  complaint  from  her. 

One  night  we  stopped  at  a  Montenegrin  village 
of  most  primitive  aspect.  The  people  were  all  in 
native  costume.  No  trace  of  civilization  as  we 
know  it  was  evident.  At  one  of  the  huts  I  applied 
for  shelter.  The  peasant  who  came  to  the  door  to 
meet  me  was  dressed  in  skin-tight  trousers  of  white 
wool,  richly  ornamented  in  fancy  designs  of  black 
braid.  His  shirt  was  yellow  linen,  and  his  short 
jacket  of  the  same  material  as  the  trousers,  but 
even  more  ornate.  He  wore  upon  his  head  a  white 
skull-cap,  and  around  his  waist  was  a  flaming 
knitted  sash.  His  feet  were  clothed  in  brilliant 
socks  and  opanki.  He  was  six  feet  tall  at  least; 
his  black  eyes  flashed,  and  his  black  hair  fell  long 
and  thick  from  under  his  white  cap.  As  pictur- 
esque and  primitive  a  model  as  any  artist  could 
wish!  Behind  him  in  the  smoky  "kitchen,"  on  the 
earthen  floor  of  which  a  fire  burned  while  the  smoke 
wandered  where  it  would,  stood  a  fierce  Montene- 
grin beauty,  proud,  disdainful,  but  not  inhospitable. 
In  her  arms  was  a  young  edition  of  the  man.  These 
wild  people  filled  me  with  admiration,  gave  me  the 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          383 

taste  of  remote,  unbeaten  paths  which  every  traveler 
loves.  Here  was  the  real  thing,  a  native  family 
just  as  it  was  on  that  hillside  four  centuries  ago. 
I  made  signs  to  my  charming  bandit  host. 

"Come  in,"  he  said.  "I  am  from  Chicago;  where 
do  you  come  from?" 

A  dozen  years  in  Chicago  had  given  him  enough 
money  to  return  to  his  ancestral  home,  buy  a  good 
farm,  marry,  and  revert  in  luxury  to  the  life  of  his 
fathers.  I  believe  a  greater  percentage  of  Mon- 
tenegrins have  been  to  America  than  of  any  other 
nation.  Because  of  my  hat,  they  were  continually 
hailing  me,  and  they  ruined  that  unbeaten-trail  taste 
for  which  I  sought  so  avidly. 

Several  incidents  broke  momentarily  this  part 
of  our  march,  but,  for  the  most  part,  it  was  of  a 
sameness — day  succeeding  day  consumed  in  quick 
marching.  Every  morning  there  was  the  rush  to 
get  on  the  road,  and  every  waning  afternoon  the 
wonder  when  and  where  we  would  camp,  and 
whether  it  would  be  grass  and  a  fragrant  wood-fire 
or  sloppy  mud  and  a  vile  inn.  There  was  the  ex- 
citement when  "Sunny  Jim,"  the  bright  and  youth- 
ful Serbian  orphan  whom  one  of  the  women  was 
bringing  from  the  wilds  of  Serbia  to  the  wilds  of 
London,  was  accused  of  making  off  with  an  officer's 


384       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

pocket-book.  Our  indignant  declarations  of  Jim's 
impeccable  honesty  helped  not  at  all  until  a  search, 
which  inexorably  extended  to  the  accused's  young 
skin,  proved  beyond  doubt  his  innocence.  Then 
there  was  the  morning  when  just  above  our  camp  a 
firing-squad  ended  the  career  of  two  deserters,  and 
the  day  when,  almost  starving,  we  came  to  a  beau- 
tiful river  and  purchased  a  forty-pound  fish,  the 
very  best  fish  ever  caught. 

So  gradually  we  neared  Podgoritze.  At  least 
from  there  we  hoped  to  get  conveyances  for  the 
three  hours'  drive  to  Plavnitze,  on  Scutari  Lake, 
there  to  take  a  boat  for  Scutari.  We  had  come 
to  consider  Podgoritze  as  marking  the  end  of  our 
troubles.  Near  it  one  morning  I  was  leading  Rosi- 
nante,  who  carried  one  of  the  women.  She  had 
been  one  of  the  strongest  until  at  Jakova  a  Turkish 
dog  of  doubtful  lineage,  but  undoubted  fierceness, 
had  attacked  and  bitten  her  badly.  At  home  she 
designed  dainty  costumes  for  actresses.  This  was 
her  first  experience  at  roughing  it,  but  she  was 
enjoying  everything  immensely. 

"I  am  so  happy!"  she  said,  looking  down  at  her 
dress  and  at  me.  "We  are  going  to  be  home  just 
in  time  for  the  January  sales!"  So  after  a  week, 


ore 

I 


or; 
SB 

cr 

i-S 

SI 


'   'I-   .  ;  •  H      '    ,-^-* 

'  r;>'     .    * 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          387 

a  good  part  of  it  spent  in  resting,  we  came  to  Pod- 
goritze. 

On  leaving  Androvitze  we  had  come  each  day 
more  in  contact  with  the  army,  for  the  route  they 
had  taken  joined  ours  there.  Many  thousands 
were  about  Podgoritze  when  we  arrived,  and  many 
more  thousands  had  already  reached  Scutari. 
Looking  at  these  filthy,  ragged,  starved,  ill  men,  one 
wondered  if  it  were  still  permissible  to  call  them  an 
army.  How  could  any  feeling  of  nationality  or 
cohesion  now  be  alive  in  this  dull,  horror-stricken 
horde?  Could  this  frayed  remnant,  these  hollow- 
eyed,  harassed  officers,  these  soldiers,  as  mechanical 
and  listless  as  automata,  be  really  considered  a  mili- 
tary force?  Had  not  that  rugged,  surpassingly 
brave  thing,  the  almost  mystical  esprit  de  corps 
which  had  endured  a  continuous  and  hopeless  re- 
treat for  ten  weeks,  died  when  the  peaks  above  Ipek 
shut  off  the  distant  Serbian  plains?  Had  not  the 
story  of  Serbia  ended  in  death  and  destruction  at 
the  evacuation  of  Ipek? 

It  is  true  that  the  retreat  through  Albania  and 
Montenegro  was  only  a  t our  de  force  in  the  business 
of  getting  away.  At  the  moment  the  need  for 
armies  had  ceased;  there  was  no  country  to  defend. 


388        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

It  was  a  flight  without  military  manoeuvering, 
merely  sauve  qui  pent.  A  few  thousand  were  able 
to  find  food  and  equipment  sufficient  to  aid  the 
Montenegrins,  and  in  Albania  about  twenty  thou- 
sand were  actively  engaged.  The  sole  object  of 
all  the  others  was  to  reach  Scutari,  where  it  would 
Be  "up  to"  the  Allies  to  reclothe,  rearm,  and  provi- 
sion them.  From  one  thousand  to  fifteen  hundred 
were  lost  in  Albania  by  savage  native  attacks. 
Many  hundreds  at  least  must  have  died  on  both  lines 
of  march  from  cold,  exposure,  and  starvation.  A 
good  part  of  the  smaller  artillery  was  saved.  The 
soldiers,  weakened  as  they  were,  went  through  in- 
credible hardships  to  effect  this.  In  many  places 
on  the  Montenegrin  route  it  had  been  necessary  to 
take  the  guns  to  pieces,  and  the  men  had  had  to 
carry  the  heavy  barrels  on  their  shoulders.  The 
paths  were  slippery  with  ice,  the  ascents  long  and 
very  steep,  the  precipices  at  times  dizzying,  the  cold 
severe,  and  there  was  little  or  no  shelter. 

But  we  did  not  see  a  disorganized,  soulless  mass 
about  Podgoritze.  We  saw  the  cream  of  Serbia's 
fighting  men,  the  nearly  superhuman  residue  which 
remained  after  shot  and  shell,  disease,  exhaustion, 
cold,  and  starvation  had  done  their  cruel  censoring ; 
after  the  savage  teeth  of  frozen  peaks  had  combed 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS          389 

out  all  but  the  strongest.  And  the  near-annihila- 
tion of  their  bodies  only  allowed  to  be  seen  more 
clearly  the  unfaltering  flame  of  their  determination 
and  their  devotion  to  the  glorious  quest,  the  tem- 
porary loss  of  which  hurt  them  more  deeply  than  all 
they  had  to  bear.  Dauntless  and  alone,  they  had 
fought  the  unequal  battle,  and  defeat  was  more  bit- 
ter than  death. 

Germany,  Austria,  and  Bulgaria  did  not  destroy 
the  Serbian  army,  nor  did  it  die  of  utter  despair  at 
Ipek,  though  well  it  might  have.  The  Serbian 
army  cannot  die.  In  two  months  they  have  re- 
organized, reequipped,  and  rested.  The  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  of  them  will  not  be  a  pleasant 
army  to  meet.  Remember  their  position.  Nearly 
every  one  of  these  men  has  left  a  family  behind  him, 
and  that  family  is  pretty  sure  to  be  starving.  At 
best  it  is  exposed  to  the  dangers  of  very  dangerous 
invaders.  This  may  dishearten  a  man,  but  it  also 
makes  him  desperate.  The  sufferings  of  that  fugi- 
tive army  gathered  about  a  fugitive  prince  in  a 
friendly,  but  foreign,  country  is  not  even  half  phys- 
ical, however  great  their  burden  is  in  that  direction. 

To  realize  at  all  what  the  loss  of  Serbia  means  to 
the  Serb,  one  must  consider  not  only  the  separation 
from  home  and  family;  one  must  understand  a 


390       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

little  the  strength  and  depth  of  the  Southern  Slav's 
desire  for  a  free  Slav  nation.  One  must  know  the 
extent  to  which  this  idea  has  permeated  all  his 
thoughts,  all  his  literature,  all  his  folk-songs  for 
five  hundred  years.  One  must  have  learned  that  it 
is  his  religion.  And  to  know  this  one  must  have 
seen  what  Mme.  Christitch  has  charmingly  pointed 
out  in  her  comments  on  "The  Soul  of  the  Southern 
Slav,"  namely,  how  his  very  life  is  bound  up  in  the 
instinct  of  brotherhood. 

A  man's  brother  or  cousin  in  Serbia  is  more  to 
him  than  his  wife  and  children,  devoted  as  he  is 
to  them.  The  loss  of  a  brother  is  the  direst  of  all 
calamities,  and,  to  the  Southern  Slav,  all  lovers 
of  Slavic  liberty  are  brothers.  This  feeling  has  re- 
sulted in  an  idealistic  patriotism  that  only  those  who 
have  come  in  contact  with  it  can  realize.  It  is  a 
patriotism  that  is  astounding  in  its  capacity  for 
sacrifice.  It  is  firmly  and  irrevocably  resolved  on 
the  liberation  or  the  extermination  of  its  people. 
Whether  one  agrees  with  its  desires  or  not,  its  pres- 
ence is  undeniably  there,  fiercely  blazing  in  the  deso- 
late, disease-swept  camps  of  that  exiled  army.  Its 
sorrow  is  not  of  physical  discomfort  or  even  of  per- 
sonal loss.  Centuries  of  dogged  fighting  have 


OVER  THE  MOUNTAINS         391 

taught  the  Serb  to  accept  such  things  as  part  of  the 
day's  work.  Their  grief  is  deeper  than  that.  It 
is  the  crushing  sense  of  a  supreme  idol  broken. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME 

PODGORITZE,  a  straggling  white  blot  on 
the  Plain  of  Zeta,  facing  fertile  prairies 
southward  as  far  as  Lake  Scutari,  flanked  on  the 
north  by  utterly  barren  peaks,  for  many  centuries 
has  had  a  rugged  history  dotted  with  incidents  of 
more  than  local  significance.  Its  environs  gave  the 
great  Diocletian  to  the  Roman  Empire  and  even 
at  that  time  it  stood  high  among  the  cities  of  Illy- 
rium.  Around  it  have  raged  many  desperate  con- 
flicts between  the  Turks  and  the  ever-victorious 
Montenegrins.  To-day — or  yesterday — it  was  the 
business  capital  of  Montenegro,  and  but  for  its 
proximity  to  the  Albanian  border  would  doubtless 
have  been  the  political  capital  also.  It  has  been 
said  that  nowhere  west  of  Constantinople  could  such 
colorful  and  astounding  market-scenes  be  met  as- 
in  Podgoritze.  The  color,  when  I  saw  it,  was  dis- 
tinctly drab  but  the  scenes  were  no  less  exciting. 

To  get  down  to  intimate  things :  we  were  hungry, 
although  at  the  "hotel"  we  made  a  pretense  at  meals 

392 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     393 

— a  bit  of  unclassified  meat,  bread  made  of  bran  and 
sand,  Turkish  coffee,  and  creme  de  menthe,  a  whole 
bottle  of  it,  which  made  us  feel  civilized  beyond 
words.  In  the  market-place  were  still  a  few  things 
for  sale.  There  were  tiny  fish  from  Scutari  Lake 
which  were  peddled  around  by  old  men  in  incredible 
filth  and  the  odor  of  which  caressed  the  very  stars. 
Also  one  could  get — by  fighting  one's  way  to  them 
— decayed  apples,  a  little  sausage  that  rivaled  the 
fish  in  smell,  and  now  and  then  a  ham.  But  the 
hams  which  at  this  time  still  survived  the  mob- 
hunger  were  old,  battle-scarred  veterans  which  re- 
mained intact  through  the  self-same  weapon  as  the 
fish  and  sausage.  One  wonderful  unsullied  thing 
we  found,  many  pounds  of  fresh  kimak,  a  sort  of 
clotted  cream  which  in  the  Balkans  passes  muster 
for  butter.  It  is  very  delicious  and  nothing  could 
have  been  more  tempting  to  us.  I  could  scarcely 
believe  my  eyes  when  I  saw  it  on  a  little  table  in 
the  market-place,  guarded  by  two  comely  peasant 
women.  A  large  crowd  was  already  around  and 
more  were  gathering  each  minute,  but  no  one  was 
buying  and  I  wondered  if  none  of  them  had  any 
money.  Forcing  my  way  through  the  by-standers, 
I  found  a  Montenegrin  policeman  in  violent  argu- 
ment with  the  proprietors  of  the  popular  kimak 


394       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

and  with  certain  indignant  members  of  the  crowd. 
This  did  not  worry  me  at  all.  My  whole  attention 
was  centered  on  that  cream-cheese  with  a  concentra- 
tion that  would  have  delighted  William  James. 
Upon  the  table  I  laid  ten  dinars  and,  picking  up  a 
knife,  began  the  attack  on  a  large  and  elegant 
chunk.  The  women,  the  policeman,  and  part  of 
the  mob  yelled  protests  and  made  threatening  ges- 
tures, but  some  of  the  crowd  cried  "dobro  Amen- 
kanske"  and  evidently  approved  my  direct  method. 
The  policeman,  who  was  a  walking  museum  of  beau- 
tiful, barbaric  arms,  ancient  pistols  of  ivory  and 
silver,  sabers  and  daggers  thrust  into  a  marvelous 
crimson  sash,  began  addressing  me  in  English.  Of 
course  he  had  been  in  America,  everybody  has  in 
Montenegro.  It  is  the  prerequisite  to  possessing 
a  small  fortune,  marrying,  and  living  happily  ever 
afterward.  He  said  the  women  would  not  be  al- 
lowed to  sell  any  of  the  kimak  for  more  than  four 
dinars  a  kilogram,  that  being  a  fair  price,  no  matter 
how  much  we  might  need  it.  The  women  insisted 
that  in  extraordinary  times  extraordinary  prices 
were  permissible  and  flatly  refused  to  sell  for  less 
than  ten  dinars,  their  determination  being  strength- 
ened by  numerous  offers  from  the  crowd  of  twenty 
and  even  thirty  dinars  a  kilo.  Around  this  impasse 


The  only  street  in  San  Giovanni  di  Medua 


The  forty  British  women  of  the  Stobart  mission  waiting  for  the 
boat  at  Plavitnitze 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     397 

there  seemed  no  way.  They  would  not  sell  at  the 
legal  price  and  they  never  did,  I  suppose.  That 
cheese  remained  there  all  day  with  a  ravenous  crowd 
round  it  and  at  nightfall  the  women  went  away — 
most  likely  to  meet  a  wealthy  purchaser  in  some 
corner  far  removed  from  the  somewhat  uncompro- 
mising arm  of  the  Montenegrin  law. 

At  Podgoritze  I  met  the  Captain  once  more,  and 
with  elaborate  courtesy  he  invited  me  to  dine  with 
a  group  of  officers  in  the  evening.  The  hour  was 
at  six  but  we  were  having  such  an  absorbing  time 
investigating  Podgoritze  and  recounting  expe- 
riences that  we  were  fifteen  minutes  late  in  arriving 
at  the  dingy  place  where  the  officers  had  mess.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  little  scene  as  we  entered, 
though  why  it  remains  so  vivid  I  scarcely  know. 
The  commissariat  of  the  inn  had  failed  almost  com- 
pletely and  what  we  saw  was  a  dozen  officers  in 
bedraggled  uniforms  and  a  look  in  their  eyes  that 
I  cannot  define.  It  was  common  to  all  of  them  and 
had  in  it  at  once  suffering  and  starvation,  humiliated 
pride,  and  the  deepest  patriotic  grief.  It  was 
always  only  from  their  gaze  that  one  could  tell  what 
hell  these  refined  and  highly  educated  men  were 
suffering;  in  their  speech  they  were  always  either 
terse  and  practical,  or  cheerful  and  witty.  At  each 


398       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

end  of  the  bare,  greasy  pine  table  was  an  empty 
wine  bottle  with  a  tallow  candle  stuck  in  it,  giving 
the  only  light  in  the  evil-smelling  room.  Lying  on 
three  or  four  heavy  earthen  platters  were  scanty 
stacks  of  almost  meatless  bones  which  the  gentlemen 
eyed  with  a  most  ludicrous  air  of  apology  when  we 
unexpectedly  appeared.  They  sat  there,  elbows  on 
the  table,  their  faces  resting  on  their  hands,  one  or 
two  of  them  smoking,  all  silent.  To  one  who  had 
known  the  past  fastidiousness  of  the  Serbian  officer, 
the  picture  was  indeed  an  epitome,  but  a  wicked  grin 
spread  over  the  Captain's  face. 

"M'sieur,"  he  said  to  me,  "I  have  invited  you  to 
dine  with  me.  On  the  way  I  have  the  delight  and 
honor  to  exhibit  my  kennels !"  His  brother  officers 
replied  with  as  good  as  he  sent,  however,  and  after 
a  little  we  went  away  laughing,  the  Captain  vastly 
amused  at  having  invited  a  guest  to  a  dinner  that 
did  not  appear.  Once  out  in  the  open  again  under 
the  cold  Montenegrin  stars,  because  we  knew  it  was 
useless  to  seek  a  repast  that  night,  we  contented 
ourselves  with  gastronomic  memories  of  the  city  of 
cities. 

"Ah,  to  be  on  the  boulevards  again,  to  smell  Paris 
once  more!"  exclaimed  the  Captain.  "To  quietly 
sit  at  a  table  all  white  and  gleaming  in  a  little  cafe 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     399 

clean  as  ^heaven,  to  glance  at  the  radiant  ladies — 
a  droite,  a  gauche — as  one  selects  a  civilized  repast, 
to  see  the  passing  crowds  so  great  and  happy  whom 
pleasure  and  not  war  have  brought  together,  to  live 
like  a  human  being,  mon  ami,  to  breathe  once  more 
the  blessed  air  of  France!"  His  perfect  French 
turned  to  a  shout  of  guttural  Serbian  as  he  hailed 
a  passing  friend  and  together  we  sought  solace  in 
Turkish  coffee.  I  hope  that  for  many  years  to 
come  he  and  his  comrade  cavaliers  may  live  to 
breathe  that  blessed  air  and  carry  to  their  indomi- 
table, struggling  country  the  culture  and  the  fine 
intellectual  wealth  of  that  incomparable  nation. 

I  saw  King  Nikolas  come  riding  through  Pod- 
goritze  next  day  on  a  milk-white  horse.  He  wore  a 
gorgeous  costume  with  silken  sashes,  and  gold- 
embossed  pistols  and  saber,  many  medals,  and  gold 
embroidery.  His  gaze  was  very  stern,  and  he 
frowned  heavily  but  returned  our  salute  cordially 
enough.  Even  then  he  had  issued  a  proclamation 
saying  that  his  subjects  must  not  be  alarmed  if  the 
court  were  moved  from  Cettinje,  and  preparation 
for  this  was  already  under  way. 

After  two  or  three  days  horse  wagons  were  pro- 
cured for  us  to  go  to  Plavnitze  to  take  the  boat  to 
Scutari.  It  required  four  hours,  and  most  of  the 


400       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

time  we  were  facing  a  freezing  wind,  so  that  we 
were  numb  when  we  arrived  at  the  large  warehouses 
near  the  boat  dock.  The  boat  had  been  expected 
to  be  waiting  for  us,  but  it  did  not  come  until  nearly 
noon  next  day.  We  had  brought  virtually  no  food, 
thinking  to  reach  Scutari  by  night,  so  that  the  delay 
was  more  than  inconvenient. 

As  night  came  on,  the  authorities  were  persuaded 
to  open  up  one  of  the  immense  empty  storehouses 
for  us — "us"  being  the  regular  unit  with  the  addi- 
tion of  eight  or  ten  members  of  an  English  hospital 
that  had  been  working  in  Montenegro.  The  roof 
of  our  abode  was  very  high  and  full  enough  of  holes 
to  afford  fine  ventilation,  and  the  floor  was  of  con- 
crete, so  we  soon  had  a  large  camp-fire  going.  It 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  comfortable  camps  we 
had,  the  feeling  that  our  troubles  were  nearing  the 
end  adding  much  to  our  content.  However,  we 
were  ravenous.  Some  one  had  found  two  hams, 
which  they  bought  without  very  close  scrutiny,  and 
these  with  a  little  bread  were  our  supper.  Unfor- 
tunately one  of  the  hams  was  distinctly  the  worse 
for  age,  but  some  of  the  party  were  hungry  enough 
to  try  the  doubtful  experiment  of  separating  the 
good  bits  from  the  less  good,  and  during  the  night 
more  than  one  suffered.  That  evening  we  sat  long 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      401 

around  the  fire,  the  Irish  girls  singing  songs  and  all 
of  us  telling  the  biggest  lies  we  knew,  thus  beguiling 
ourselves  into  forgetting  for  a  little  the  things 
behind  us. 

Next  morning  while  we  waited  for  the  boat  on  the 
pier,  Lieutenant-Commander  Kerr  arrived  with  his 
party  of  marines.  I  have  already  described  this 
plucky  little  band  who  refused  to  talk  about  their 
troubles,  although  suffering  so  terribly.  It  does, 
indeed,  seem  strange  to  me  that  with  such  magnifi- 
cent fighting  material  England  has  so  far  been  dis- 
tinctly unfortunate.  When  the  boat  came  we  still 
delayed  until  the  arrival  of  a  general  and  his  staff, 
who  were  going  to  cross  with  us.  During  this  time 
we  heard  heavy  firing  down  the  lake  from  the  direc- 
tion of  Scutari,  and  in  a  little  while  saw  an  Austrian 
aeroplane  coming  toward  us,  flying  at  a  great 
height.  There  were  no  anti-aircraft  guns  about, 
and  nothing  but  a  few  rifles  to  protect  us  if  he  saw 
fit  to  bomb  the  narrow  pier,  which  was  crowded 
full  of  Serbian  soldiers,  the  marines,  and  ourselves. 
On  nearing  us  he  came  quite  low  and  circled  about 
several  times,  but  flew  away  without  dropping  a 
bomb,  but  not  without  causing  a  good  deal  of  ex- 
citement because  we  were  in  a  pretty  bad  position 
to  be  bombed.  If  he  had  some  bombs,  but  re- 


402       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

framed,  I  bow  to  him  here;  if  he  wished  for  some, 
I  hope  he  dropped  into  the  lake. 

Shortly  before  the  boat  sailed  an  Austrian  pris- 
oner crawled  down  the  pier  toward  us.  This 
is  not  an  exaggeration,  certainly  he  apparently 
crawled.  Every  movement  showed  great  exhaus- 
tion, and  he  bent  far  over  so  that  his  hands  almost 
swept  the  ground.  Steadfastly  his  face  was  turned 
to  earth,  though  his  head  oscillated  with  a  swinging 
glance  from  side  to  side.  When  we  did  catch  a 
glimpse  of  his  features,  we  saw  only  a  grayish  bunch 
of  matted  beard,  caked  and  tangled  with  filth,  which 
spread  up  to  meet  shaggy  locks  of  almost  snow- 
white  hair.  His  mouth  remained  continually  open. 
Mechanically  he  was  searching  the  ground  for  food 
in  a  manner  startlingly  identical  with  that  of  a 
hungry  dog  or  a  pig.  On  a  pile  of  loose  stones 
there  were  some  small  pieces  of  maize  bread  which 
had  fallen  as  some  one  ate  a  hunk  of  the  crumbling 
concoction  that  the  Montenegrins  make.  The  Aus- 
trian prisoner  came  upon  this  find.  While  a  nurse 
was  canvassing  the  crowd  to  see  if  any  bread  re- 
mained among  us,  this  creature,  who  had  ceased  to 
be  human,  searched  the  pile  of  stones  through  and 
through,  tearing  them  apart  and,  as  the  crumbs 
ever  sifted  lower,  scattering  them  with  a  studious 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      403 

attention  to  the  minutest  particle  which  they  hid 
that  seemed  to  me  more  eloquent  than  any  frenzy. 
A  little  bread  was  found  for  him  and  he  managed 
to  get  on  the  boat.  If  he  had  not,  he  would  have 
died,  for  it  takes  two  days  for  strong  men  to  go 
around  the  lake. 

In  his  eyes,  and  in  the  dumb  glances  of  how  many 
thousands  more,  we  read  the  deep  damnation  of 
those  responsible  for  war,  whoever  they  may  be. 
By  most  trustworthy  estimates  I  know  now  that 
more  than  forty-four  thousand  Austrian  prisoners 
died  from  starvation  and  exposure  on  that  eight- 
weeks  retreat,  and  the  most  of  them,  of  course, 
"played  out"  in  the  mountains.  With  all  the  sin- 
cerity that  I  can  display  I  want  to  bear  witness  to 
the  truly  admirable  attitude  of  these  prisoners  as  I 
saw  them.  It  is  true  that  many  thousands  of  them 
were  Austro- Serbs,  whose  hearts  were  with  their 
kinsmen,  but  in  no  instance  did  I  see  one  of  them 
guilty  of  any  brutal  act,  not  even  when  they  stood 
in  torture  at  the  door  of  death.  Out  of  the  fifty 
thousand  that  Serbia  held,  six  thousand  came,  more 
dead  than  alive,  to  the  sea. 

At  last  we  scrambled  on  board  and  our  argosy 
weighed  anchor.  It  was  a  strange,  hybrid  craft, 
built  originally  for  a  sail-boat,  but  since  endowed 


404       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

with  a  reluctant  gasolene  motor  that  pushed  us 
leisurely  through  the  placid  water,  so  placid  that 
the  mountains  under  the  surface  seemed  as  real  and 
solid  as  those  that  formed  the  shores.  There  was 
scarcely  more  than  standing-room  on  the  entire 
boat,  only  infrequently  an  opportunity  to  sit,  and 
the  odor  was  terrific.  We  had  a  good  many 
wounded  soldiers  on  board,  as  well  as  the  many 
uninjured  ones  whose  condition  was  far  from 
pleasant. 

In  some  miraculous  manner  (for  there  were 
many  more  important  who  could  find  no  room)  a 
wild  Gipsy  had  sneaked  on  board  with  his  battered 
violin.  He  was  merely  a  shambling  skeleton 
draped  with  brown  skin,  his  jet  eyes  sunken  deep 
beneath  his  brows,  his  cheeks  hollow  and  rough  as 
potato  peel.  As  soon  as  we  got  a  little  way  from 
land  he  began  playing  weird,  squeaky  things  that, 
under  the  circumstances,  were  worse  than  the  very 
worst  ghost-story  I  ever  heard.  The  cruise  of  the 
Ancient  Mariner  certainly  knew  no  more  grotesque 
hours  than  those  we  spent  in  the  deathly  stillness 
of  Scutari  Lake  among  the  tottering  remnants  of 
men  who  had  played  to  the  world  one  of  its  greatest 
masques  of  human  misery.  The  battered  little  ship 
loaded  with  its  desperate  freight  glided  with 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      407 

scarcely  a  gurgle  across  the  wild,  silent,  beautiful 
lake.  We  on  board  only  mumbled  and  mostly  stood 
facing  southward,  straining  our  eyes  toward  Scu- 
tari, or  now  and  then  scanning  the  sky  to  see  if  the 
aeroplane  were  not  returning  to  sink  us.  Inces- 
santly this  wild,  brown  phantom  rasped  wilder 
music  from  his  fiddle.  Hour  after  hour  we  stood 
thus  until  we  ached  in  every  muscle,  until  the  stench 
and  misery  everywhere  visible  was  enough  to  drive 
one  insane.  Sometimes  we  were  near  the  gray 
shores  and  cruel,  barren  peaks,  again  far  enough 
away  for  distance  to  tone  down  the  rugged  land. 
We  became  unutterably  fatigued  and  hungry  and, 
as  the  afternoon  waned,  very  cold,  for  a  high  wind 
which  nearly  stopped  our  progress  swept  down  upon 
us  and  froze  us  to  the  bone.  We  huddled  even 
closer  to  each  other  to  keep  warm  and  looked  every 
minute  to  see  Scutari — where  there  was  a  British 
consul  and  food  and  rest  and  news  from  home,  per- 
haps. The  sun  set  about  five  o'clock  and  left  a  cold, 
wind-swept  sky,  a  sheet  of  orange  doubled  by  the 
lake.  About  eight  we  fought  in  the  teeth  of  the 
wind  around  a  sharply  jutting  shoulder  of  solid  rock 
and  came  upon  a  cluster  of  lights,  above  which  we 
could  discern  the  mass  of  the  huge  ancient  fortress 
of  Scutari. 


408       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

The  port  affords  no  landing  facilities  worth 
speaking  of.  The  landing  must  be  made  in  tipsy* 
leaky  boats  domineered  by  savage  specimens,  two 
to  a  boat,  who  doubtless  would  also  answer  to  the 
adjective  tipsy.  A  drove  of  these  farouche  boat- 
men wabbled  out  in  their  terrifying  craft  to  meet  us. 
They  were  like  so  many  flitting  chips  on  the  dark, 
wind-tossed  water.  Nikola,  who  had  been  sent 
ahead  to  herald  our  coming,  was  commanding  them, 
in  strong,  uncomplimentary  tones  that  the  high 
wind  split  up  and  bore  to  us  in  screeching  frag- 
ments. But  they  were  a  stupid,  unruly  lot,  and  his 
admonitions  continued  to  explode  fast  and  furious, 
the  expletives  flying  by  our  ears  like  whistling 
shrapnel.  Upon  the  ship  the  human  tangle  ap- 
peared inextricable.  No  one  could  do  more  than 
face  about.  It  seemed  as  if  we  must  be  shoveled 
off  like  so  much  coal.  But  the  freezing,  starving 
soldiers  were  far  from  inanimate.  No  sooner  had 
the  boats  come  near  us  than  these  soldiers  began  to 
scramble  for  places  near  the  rail  where  rope  ladders 
hung  down  to  the  water.  The  resulting  confusion 
was  like  a  herd  of  badly  frightened  cattle  in  a  corral. 
The  whole  crowd  was  rocked  this  way  and  that,  and, 
only  because  there  was  not  room  to  fall,  did  many 
of  the  women  escape  being  trampled.  This  state 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      409 

of  affairs  was  aided  by  the  darkness,  which  made  it 
impossible  to  see  how  anything  should  be  done. 
The  crowd  began  to  shout,  Nikola  and  his  crew  took 
up  the  cry,  so  that  the  very  stars  knew  we  were  land- 
ing at  Scutari. 

When  finally  the  boats  which  Nikola  had  reserved 
for  our  use  were  brought  up  to  the  ship,  most  of 
them  were  on  the  starboard  side  while  nearly  all 
our  party  had  congregated  to  port.  It  was  next 
to  impossible  to  cross  the  ship.  I  happened  to  be 
by  the  starboard  rail  where  I  had  been  all  day,  and, 
as  an  apparition  from  the  watery  confusion  below, 
I  saw  Nikola  ascending  the  rope-ladder.  He  cried 
to  me  to  come  down  at  once  and  help  hold  one  of 
the  boats  to  the  side  of  the  ship.  I  descended, 
holding  by  one  hand,  with  the  other  grasping  my 
rucksack  that  contained  my  films  and  notes.  I  got 
into  a  boat  with  an  Englishman.  The  men  had 
crowded  their  boats  so  close  together  that  it  was 
not  possible  for  those  next  the  ship  to  push  off  when 
filled,  and  this  came  near  causing  a  complete  debacle 
for  our  expedition. 

No  sooner  was  I  seated  in  the  stern  of  the  boat 
than  soldiers  began  pouring  over  the  ship's  side  into 
it,  dropping  several  feet  and  landing  with  an  im- 
pact that  each  time  threatened  disaster.  In  two 


410       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

minutes  we  had  all  we  could  possibly  take  and  the 
water  was  in  a  few  inches  of  overflowing  the  gun- 
wales. I  yelled  to  the  boatmen  to  push  off,  but 
that  was  foolish  because  we  were  hemmed  in  and 
could  not  move  an  inch  except  straight  down.  A 
wave  dashed  us  with  freezing  water  and  a  good  deal 
slopped  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Dressed  as 
I  was,  I  did  not  believe  I  could  swim  a  dozen  strokes 
and  the  Englishman  felt  likewise.  The  rest  of  us 
were  soldiers.  The  women  were  all  on  the  other 
side  and  we  could  hear  sounds  which  told  us  there 
was  trouble  over  there  too.  Seeing  their  comrades 
dropping  on  to  the  mass  of  boats  below,  the  men 
above  followed  like  goats  going  over  a  wall,  quite 
unconcerned  about  where  they  hit.  In  spite  of 
our  imprecations,  a  young  giant  whom  we  knew 
would  sink  us  in  an  instant  climbed  half-way  over 
the  rail  and  hung  pendant  above  us.  Shouting  did 
no  good.  It  had  become  a  heedless  stampede  of 
men  whose  nerves,  Heaven  knows,  should  already 
have  been  shattered.  We  looked  around  to  choose 
another  boat  into  which  to  jump  before  that  human 
sword  of  Damocles  should  drop,  but  all  of  those 
adjoining  us  were  already  full!  I  remember  how 
I  mentally  bade  farewell  to  my  cherished  films  and 
note-book,  and  believe  I  would  have  drawn  my 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     411 

automatic  and  shot  that  hanging  idiot  if  I  had  not 
seen  that  he  would  drop  then  and  sink  us  anyway. 
He  let  himself  over  a  little  more  and  kicked  his 
bare  feet  right  in  my  face  as  I  stood  up  cursing  him. 
The  reader  will  probably  not  believe  it,  but  those 
bare  heels  and  George  Bernard  Shaw  saved  us.  I 
solemnly  affirm  it.  In  the  instant  that  he  dangled 
before  my  eyes  an  incident  in  which  the  shocking 
young  hero  of  "Fanny's  First  Play"  chases  the 
startling  young  heroine  up-stairs  pinching  her  an- 
kles came  vividly  to  me.  With  all  the  venom  I 
could  muster  I  got  that  man  just  above  the  heel 
with  my  finger  and  thumb  and  there  I  stuck.  He 
howled  as  if  he  had  been  ham-strung — he  must 
have  thought  somebody  had  knifed  him — and  jerked 
himself  back  over  the  rail  in  a  highly  gratifying 
manner.  Two  more  pairs  of  legs  already  threat- 
ened us,  but  we  had  found  the  charm.  We  quickly 
pinched  them  back  on  board,  for  the  soldiers'  opanki 
offered  no  protection  against  our  method  of  attack. 
For  fully  ten  minutes  we  maintained  our  rocking, 
perilous  neutrality  until  the  swearing  Achilles 
gang  above  us  became  so  ludicrous  we  enjoyed  it. 
Their  opanki-sheathed  extremities  certainly  proved 
our  opportunity.  Altogether  it  was  a  unique  land- 
ing, unlike  any  I  had  ever  made. 


412        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

After  every  one  of  the  unit  had  landed  without 
any  serious  mishaps,  though  with  several  narrow 
escapes,  we  walked  behind  the  crazy  Albanian  carts 
that  carried  our  luggage,  for  more  than  half  an 
hour  through  the  streets  of  Scutari.  How  civilized 
they  looked  to  us,  those  streets  which  to  the  traveler 
from  Italy  seem  so  primitive!  Our  tramp  ended 
before  the  wide  wooden  doors  of  a  court-yard  upon 
which  we  read  a  placard — the  first  instance  I  had 
seen  of  official  British  aid  for  the  women,  except  at 
Mitrovitze  the  special  train  that  had  carried  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  of  the  nurses  for  three  hours  on 
their  way  to  the  sea  under  the  guidance  of  a  volun- 
teer Serb  leader.  The  sign  read  "Mission  An- 
glaise"  and  underneath,  "Sir*  Ralph  Paget"  It 
was,  indeed,  pleasant  for  the  nurses  to  find  within 
even  bare  rooms,  but  somewhat  clean,  and  spread 
with  dry  hay  on  which  to  sleep.  It  did  not  seem 
to  me  that  such  arrangements  would  have  been 
impossible  along  most  stages  of  the  retreat,  if  some 
definite  plan  had  been  arranged  and  followed. 
That  night  a  hot  stew  of  meat  and  potatoes  was 
brought  to  us  with  bread  and  coffee.  We  had  had 
nothing  but  the  doubtful  ham  and  a  bit  of  tinned 
mutton  since  leaving  Podgoritze  thirty-six  hours 
before. 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      413 

It  was  arranged  that  early  next  morning  we 
should  leave  for  the  coast,  a  two  days'  journey,  to 
take  "an  American  sailing  vessel,  the  Albania'' 
which  would  carry  only  the  refugees  of  neutral  or 
non-military  status.  There  was  deep  gloom  among 
the  young  Englishmen.  This  meant  seven  days 
march  to  Durazzo  over  rough  trails  where  blood- 
thirsty bandits  hid.  I  was  the  only  American  in 
the  place  and  as  such  my  immunity  from  that  march 
made  me  the  recipient  of  much  congratulation.  I 
searched  for  an  American  consul  but  as  yet  our  new 
diplomatic  representative  to  the  Serbian  Govern- 
ment had  not  arrived  at  Scutari. 

In  a  way  I  was  sorry  not  to  have  a  longer  stay 
in  Scutari.  It  was  exciting  and  instructive  to 
watch  the  broken  Serbian  Government  reshaping 
itself  there,  to  view  the  fagged  army  as  it  sank  down 
into  camps  that,  desolate  though  they  were,  prom- 
ised— so  the  men  vainly  thought — a  surcease  from 
the  suffering  of  the  past  months,  a  chance  to  rest, 
wash,  and  feed.  No  such  thing  happened,  but 
when  I  was  at  Scutari  people  believed  it  might. 
"The  poor  devils,  to  think  they  will  have  to  camp 
around  here  the  rest  of  the  winter  with  almost  no 
wood!"  one  officer  said  mournfully  to  me.  Not 
even  such  cold  comfort  as  that  was  vouched  to  them. 


414       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

Each  clear  day  without  fail  there  was  an  aeroplane 
bombardment  which  did  small  damage,  but  served 
to  remind  the  army  that  their  relentless  enemies 
were  hounding  them  still,  and  though  balked  for  a 
moment  by  the  mountains  yet  cherished  hopes  of 
reaching  them.  It  may  also  have  been  a  gentle 
hint  to  Essad  Pasha  of  how  long  is  the  Teuton's 
arm  and  how  ready  it  would  be  to  strike  any  who 
offered  a  refuge  to  their  prey.  But  whatever  the 
Albanian  ruler's  faults,  he  showed  himself  not  fool 
enough  to  be  persuaded  that  a  precarious  capital 
in  the  hand  is  worth  the  good-will  of  inevitable 
victors. 

"Will  they  come  here,  do  you  think?"  was  a  ques- 
tion on  every  tongue.  A  winter  campaign  in  Mon- 
tenegro and  Albania  seemed  almost  incredible,  yet 
I  believe  those  in  authority  foresaw  it.  The  great 
deciding  factor  was  food  and  ammunition,  and  these 
the  Italians  seemed  unable  to  transport  in  any 
safety  across  the  Adriatic.  The  reason,  however, 
may  have  been  deeper  than  that;  Italy  may  very 
well  have  wished  only  to  hold  Avlona  and  to  let  the 
war  take  its  course  with  Serbia  and  Montenegro. 
The  eastern  littoral  of  the  Adriatic  has  been  for 
ages  a  diplomatic  chessboard,  and  there  is  no  reason 
to  believe  now  that  deep-laid  schemes  for  its  domi- 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     415 

nation  are  not  going  forward.  Whatever  the 
causes,  the  results  are  obvious  enough.  The  addi- 
tional march  from  Scutari  to  Durazzo  cost  Serbia 
many  thousands  of  her  precious  men.  Deadly  as 
the  deadliest  fire  was  that  intolerable  extra  burden 
coming  at  the  end  of  their  miraculous  retreat.  As 
one  more  reason  why  the  whole  world  loves  France 
with  a  personal  affection  it  should  be  noted  here 
that,  far  removed  from  Corfu  and  fighting  the 
"lion's  share" — happy  phrase — of  war  on  the  west- 
ern front,  France  has  shouldered  the  care  of  those 
thousands  of  shattered  heroes  who,  while  two  of 
them  stand  together,  will  ever  be  known  as  the 
Serbian  army.  From  San  Giovanni  to  Durazzo, 
from  Christmas  to  the  middle  of  January,  was  a 
via  dolorosa  more  terrible  than  shell-torn  trenches 
full  of  bodies  and  at  the  end  was  the  island  of  Vido 
about  which  Mr.  Grouitch,  under  secretary  of 
foreign  affairs  for  Serbia,  tells  in  an  account  in  the 
"New  York  Evening  Sun": 

I  went  to  visit  the  island  where  are  the  sick  soldiers. 
The  Greeks  call  it  the  island  of  Vido,  but  the  Serbs  call 
it  now  the  Island  of  the  Devil,  or  more  often,  the  Island 
of  Death.  To  that  island  are  sent  the  soldiers  who  are 
suffering  not  from  any  particular  disease,  but  are  sim- 
ply starved  and  exhausted,  so  that  they  need,  not  only 
food,  to  recover  but  care. 


416       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

Food  they  get  and  very  often  they  die  as  soon  as  they 
take  it.  Care  and  nursing  there  is,  unfortunately,  none, 
and  many  die  from  want  of  it  who  would  otherwise  live. 

The  sights  one  sees  there  are  terrible,  and  it  would 
need  a  Dantesque  pen  to  describe  them.  The  island  is  a 
small  one  opposite  Corfu. 

It  has  only  one  building  which  serves  as  a  habitation  for 
doctors  and  the  personnel.  The  rest  is  barren  lands  and 
ruins  of  old  fortifications  destroyed  by  the  English  be- 
fore they  gave  the  island  to  Greece. 

As  soon  as  I  arrived  near  enough  to  have  a  good  view 
of  the  shore,  I  found  that  the  name  "death"  had  been 
rightly  given  to  the  island.  A  few  paces  from  the  land* 
ing  was  a  small  inclosure  screened  with  tent  sheets,  behind 
which  the  corpses  were  piled.  A  few  meters  away  was 
a  large  boat  tied  to  a  sort  of  wooden  jetty  already  full 
of  bodies,  and  on  the  jetty  two  men  were  unloading  a 
stretcher  by  simply  turning  it  over  and  throwing  another 
corpse  atop  the  others. 

And  that  operation  was  being  performed  regularly,  one 
stretcher  following  another,  corpse  after  corpse  falling 
from  a  height  of  two  meters  into  the  boat  until  there  was 
such  a  pile  that  no  more  could  be  taken,  and  the  boat- 
load with  legs  and  arms  protruding  here  and  there,  some 
hanging  overboard,  was  taken  to  the  sea  which  became 
the  grave  for  those  unfortunate  people  who  had  suffered 
so  much  and  had  died  just  as  they  thought  they  were 
safe. 

There  are  one  hundred  buried  that  way  every  day. 
They  die  not  from  sickness,  but  simply  because  they  are 
so  tired,  so  exhausted  physically,  so  famished,  that  it  is 
only  with  the  most  careful  nursing,  by  treating  them  like 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      417 

children,  putting  them  in  warm  beds,  etc.,  that  one  could 
save  them.  But  tents  are  few  and  beds  are  fewer. 

There  is  no  wood  to  burn  and  therefore  no  fires  are 
made.  Some  drag  themselves  to  a  tree,  where  they  sit 
and  sleep  and  do  not  wake  again.  They  have  starved 
too  long  and  cannot  support  food  any  more. 

The  worst  sight  was  under  three  or  four  tents,  old, 
rickety,  dirty,  big  and  black,  as  if  in  harmony  with  the 
sights  they  covered.  In  each  of  them  from  forty  to  sixty 
soldiers  were  lying,  riot  in  beds,  not  on  straw,  not  on  the 
earth,  but  in  the  mud,  because  there  were  neither  beds  nor 
straw. 

Our  good  intentions  to  get  away  early  from  Scu- 
tari were  thwarted  by  several  accidents.  As- 
sembled at  the  British  consulate,  we  waited  for 
hours  before  the  carts  that  were  to  carry  the  luggage 
and  the  nurses  came.  Here  we  saw  Admiral  Trou- 
bridge  again  for  a  few  minutes.  He  had  arrived 
shortly  before  by  way  of  Albania  and  had  had  to 
walk  most  of  the  way,  but  he  seemed  quite  as  deb- 
onnaire  as  ever;  and,  because  he  had  been  able  to 
secure  supplies  for  his  men,  was  cheerful.  When 
our  carts  did  come,  we  filed  out  through  intermin- 
able muddy  streets  to  the  end  of  the  town  and  there 
a  halt  was  called. 

There  was  no  one  definitely  in  charge  of  the 
party,  and  none  seemed  able  to  tell  why  we  had 
stopped.  Nikola  had  been  sent  ahead,  while  Dr. 


418       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

V 

Curcin  had  stayed  behind  to  see  about  the  unit's 
passports  and  money  matters.     The  British  consul 
was  supposed  to  have  made  arrangements.     For 
three  hours  we  stood  where  the  drivers  had  suddenly 
deserted  us,  taking  ten  of  the  carts  with  them. 
When  they  returned  they  had  enough  hay  for  the 
round  trip  of  four  days.     Under  the  best  conditions, 
it  is  two  full  days'  journey  by  ox-cart  from  Scutari 
to  Medua,  but  now  the  roads  were  in  a  frightful 
condition.     In  places  the  wide  Bo j  ana  threatened 
to  overflow  them  utterly.     Everywhere  was  deep 
mud,    and    frequently    for    hundreds    of    yards 
stretched  continuous  ponds.     So  an  early  start  was 
imperative  if  we  were  to  reach  the  half-way  village 
where  Nikola  hoped  to  secure  shelter.     Our  being 
delayed  brought  about  a  series  of  adventures  and 
at  the  last  almost  caused  us  a  cruel  disappointment. 
It  was  about  two  o'clock  when  we  got  under  way 
again  and  a  cold,  driving  rain  had  set  in  which 
soaked  the  women,  perched  on  top  the  groaning 
cart  between  those  tremendous  wheels,  the  riddle  of 
which  the  bottomless  mud  soon  explained  to  us. 
They  sat  upon  the  hay,  which  soon  became  like  a 
sponge,  making  quite  as  uncomfortable  a  seat  as 
can  well  be  imagined. 


£ 

55 
j? 


t 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     421 

The  rain  continued  steadily  until  late  afternoon, 
when  the  clouds  broke  into  a  sunset  of  marvelous 
splendor  that  deluged  the  ruddy  crags  about  Scu- 
tari with  royal  purple  shades  and  splotches  of  yel- 
low light,  that  glorified  our  road  into  a  ribbon  of 
iridescent  reflection  leading  straight  away  westward 
to  the  blessed  sea  and  rest,  that  transmuted  the 
swollen  Bo j  ana  to  a  rushing  flood  of  gold,  all  echoes 
of  the  beauty  of  the  sky.  Although  we  were  soaked 
to  the  skin  and  tramped  in  the  midst  of  a  savage 
wilderness  at  nightfall  with  no  habitation  in  sight 
and  knowing  not  at  all  where  we  would  sleep,  the 
scene  laid  its  magic  upon  us.  We  were  now  tra- 
versing the  perfectly  flat  bottom  of  the  valley,  cov- 
ered by  tall,  withered  grasses  fragrant  with  the 
rain  and  bending  under  the  breeze  that  raced  over 
it.  Disregarding  the  distant  mountains,  it  had  the 
quality  of  a  windy  Dutch  landscape  under  clouds 
that  were  fading  to  dun  and  ashen,  and  brought 
a  sense  of  isolation  from  the  world,  of  having  for  the 
instant  ceased  to  be  a  part  of  it,  of  watching  it  as 
from  a  star.  Always  in  the  mind  of  each  of  us  was 
Serbia,  the  tragic  manner  of  her  death,  the  great 
beauty  of  her  primitive  heroism.  Already  "The 
Retreat''  was  merging  into  a  unit  of  the  past,  into  a 


422        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

finished  experience  whose  memory  tinged  our  every 
thought,  as  in  fact  it  has  continued  unceasingly 
to  do. 

At  Scutari  grewsome  accounts  had  come  to  us  of 
what  befell  many  refugees  and  weakened  soldiers 
on  the  route  through  Albania  from  Prizrend. 
Several  high  officers,  including  a  French  major,  had 
been  murdered,  as  well  as  some  fifteen  hundred 
soldiers  and  many  hundreds  of  civilians.  Although 
from  Durazzo,  Essad  Pasha  was  doing  all  in  his 
power  to  succor  and  protect  the  Serbs,  he  was  un- 
able to  control  the  wild  northern  tribesmen  when 
once  the  all-pervasive  unrest  of  war  had  penetrated 
their  mountains.  People  had  their  throats  slashed 
as  they  slept  simply  for  the  rings  on  their  fingers. 
In  narrow  defiles  they  were  cut  off  and  shot  down, 
and  in  lonely  villages,  stopping  for  the  night,  their 
huts  were  surrounded  and  all  were  butchered.  As 
a  consequence  we  did  not  view  with  too  much  faith 
and  complacency  the  twenty-five  outlandish  beings 
who  came  along  to  drive  the  oxen.  The  Montene- 
grin Government  sent  along  with  us  two  young  ser- 
geants as  guides  and  protectors.  They  were  surly, 
ill-humored  fellows,  inexpressibly  lazy  and  utterly 
nonchalant  about  everything  except  their  own  com- 
fort. They  seemed  to  be  frightened  themselves,  for 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      423 

when  night  came  they  began  to  insist  that  we  stop 
right  where  we  were  in  the  fields  without  shelter  and 
roost  on  the  carts  until  dawn.  This  did  not  seem 
to  promise  more  safety  and  certainly  not  as  much 
comfort  as  pushing  on,  so  we  refused  to  stop.  The 
cloud-rack  had  blown  away  almost  entirely  now  and 
a  brilliant  moon,  just  beginning  to  wan,  rose  after 
a  while  and  made  our  traveling  easier.  Also  the 
road  had  become  firmer,  and  while  we  waded  in 
water  continuously  we  did  not  stick  very  much. 

We  tramped  along  for  two  or  three  hours  after 
the  moon  rose.  Just  ahead  of  our  party  three 
Englishmen  walked,  the  guards  came  along  in  the 
middle,  and  a  young  medical  student  from  Edin- 
burgh whom  we  had  met  at  Podgoritze  brought  up 
the  rear  with  me.  This  young  man  was  named 
Bobby  Burns  and  was  half -American.  Walking 
along  in  the  wilderness  together  we  amused  our- 
selves discussing  New  York,  books,  the  theater, 
and  settled  quite  easily  many  profound  social  prob- 
lems. Under  the  surface  of  this  chatter,  however, 
we  considered  with  more  or  less  interest  every  dark 
place  on  the  road.  He  was  very  soft-spoken  and 
polite,  even  to  a  fault,  and  his  diction  was  always 
most  polished.  His  gentle  manner  and  his  almost 
girlish  face  made  him  seem  to  have  just  stepped  out 


424       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

from  some  sequestered  school.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  had  been  connected  with  an  army  division  for 
months,  had  undergone  terrific  strain,  hardship  and 
exposure,  had  witnessed  many  horrible  things  while 
retreating  with  the  army,  about  all  of  which  he 
spoke  with  a  cool  detachment  that  I  envied.  No 
trace  of  the  ordeal  was  on  him,  only  always  his 
thought  was  for  the  comfort  and  safety  of  the 
women,  and  his  good  humor  unfailing.  I  liked  to 
think  that  he  was  English,  and  I  liked  even  more  to 
know  that  he  was  American,  too. 

Between  nine  and  ten  o'clock  when  the  drivers 
were  just  about  ready  to  mutiny,  apparently,  we 
heard  a  shout  ahead  and  Nikola  came  to  meet  us, 
saying  that  he  had  got  us  shelter  for  the  night  in 
a  tiny  village,  for  it  would  not  be  possible  to  reach 
the  half-way  station  before  far  into  the  night.  To 
stop  meant  that  it  would  hardly  be  feasible  to  reach 
San  Giovanni  di  Medua  next  day,  but  we  knew  of 
nothing  to  make  us  think  a  little  further  delay  would 
matter. 

The  "village"  consisted  of  a  half-dozen  huts. 
The  forty  women  were  to  sleep  all  together  in  a  fair- 
sized  room  in  the  largest  house,  while  guards  were 
to  sleep  outside  the  door.  We  men  shared  another 
room  at  a  little  distance.  The  head  of  the  family 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     425 

village,  at  whose  hut  the  women  were  to  sleep,  was 
a  villainous  old  chap  of  amazing  age,  who  boasted 
dozens  of  sons  and  dozens-times-dozens  grandsons, 
all  of  whom  congregated  around  to  watch  us.  I 
could  n't  imagine  where  they  all  came  from.  They 
poked  around  our  luggage  in  the  most  naively  in- 
quisitive manner  and  had  a  disconcerting  habit  of 
sitting  tailor-fashion  and  staring  straight  at  one 
for  ten  minutes  without  winking  an  eye,  stern  and 
unsmiling.  They  were,  indeed,  a  rummy  crowd  to 
descend  into  at  ten  in  the  evening  in  search  of  shel- 
ter. They  appeared  cold,  haughty,  and  distrustful, 
although  they  committed  no  overt  act  of  hostility. 
When  we  began  to  "feed"  before  turning  in,  the 
old  mummy  walked  calmly  in,  sat  down  among  us, 
and  stared  and  fingered  us  to  his  heart's  content, 
while  his  clan  packed  the  porch  outside.  He  spoke 
a  little  Serbian,  but  his  Albanian  no  one  of  our 
Serbs  could  understand.  Stepping  out  of  this 
room  suddenly,  I  found  the  crowd  investigating 
our  baggage  which  was  on  the  porch.  Their  de- 
meanor was  such  that  I  thought  it  best  not  to  yell 
at  them,  but  I  went  over  and  sat  down  on  my  bag, 
whereupon  the  bunch  formed  round  me  in  a  half- 
circle  and  stared  me  out  of  countenance,  not  utter- 
ing a  sound,  until  they  became  for  me  a  pack  of 


426       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

coyotes  sitting  on  their  haunches  with  their  tongues 
hanging  out. 

Then  a  curious  thing  happened.  The  old  fellow 
came  out.  Nikola  had  evidently  impressed  upon 
him  the  importance  of  leaving  English  people 
alone,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  eyed  us  a  bit  dis- 
dainfully. My  cowboy  hat  took  his  eye  and  that 
meant  that  he  had  to  touch  it  or  he  would  die.  He 
shuffled  over,  lifted  it  off  my  head,  and  examined  it. 
"Engleske?"  he  murmured,  using  the  Serbian  word 
to  me.  "Amerikanske,"  I  replied  with  a  result  that 
indeed  surprised  me.  He  and  all  his  innumerable 
progeny  showed  the  keenest  interest  at  once,  and 
smilingly  gathered  around  me,  saying  grotesque 
words  which  I  took  to  be  kindnesses.  They  patted 
me  all  over,  and  the  ancient  patriarch  thrusting  his 
savage  face — it  was  not  so  bad  in  its  way — right 
into  mine,  repeated  in  a  voice  of  greatest  interest 
and  cordiality,  "Amerikanske,  Amerikanske — 
braat!"  ("American  brother"),  and  again  he  began 
patting  me  until  I  felt  like  a  patty-cake.  He  of- 
fered tobacco,  and  I  produced  some  dried  figs. 
From  then  on  I  felt  their  attitude  had  changed  to- 
ward us. 

It  does  seem  strange  to  me  that  the  only  time  in 
my  life  when  American  citizenship  per  se  brought 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      427 

me  the  slightest  consideration  should  have  been 
among  a  clan  of  semi-savages  in  the  middle  of  a 
howling  Albanian  wilderness.  In  many  thousands 
of  miles  of  traveling  throughout  western  and  south- 
ern Europe  and  in  the  Balkans,  I  have  always 
counted  myself  lucky  if  I  found  my  passport  at 
par;  to  have  it  appear  at  a  premium  is  an  expe- 
rience from  which  I  have  not  yet  recovered.  I  think 
through  Montenegro  some  rumors  of  America  as  a 
land  of  wild  liberty  had  come  to  them,  and  the  Al- 
banian loves  wild  liberty.  Through  misunder- 
standing my  country,  he  liked  me.  That  at  any 
rate  is  the  only  explanation  I  can  devise. 

The  night  passed  away  for  me  in  a  great  de- 
fensive battle  with  husky  Albanian  vermin,  punc- 
tuated by  a  constant  drip-drip  of  filthy  raindrops 
that  leaked  through  the  rotten  roof  in  such  quan- 
tities it  seemed  impossible  to  escape  them — all  the 
more  as  one  did  not  have  a  wide  choice  of  resting- 
places,  the  floor  being  carpeted  with  prostrate 
natives,  men,  women,  and  children.  "Sunny  Jim," 
the  little  Serbian  orphan  boy  who  came  along  with 
us,  found  a  corner  near  me,  and  in  his  dreams  would 
murmur  things  I  could  not  understand,  but  in  a 
childish  voice  that  was  wretched  enough.  Once 
when  he  was  very  quiet  and  I  thought  at  last  he 


428        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

was  fast  asleep  I  saw  tears  trickling  down  his  still 
babyish  face.  I  had  never  suspected  him  of  the 
slightest  sentiment.  He  had  seemed  so  wild  and 
tough,  full  of  high  spirits,  and  enjoying  the  excite- 
ment of  the  march.  In  the  horrible  upheaval,  con- 
fusion, and  carnage  of  the  retreat  from  the  northern 
frontiers,  he  had  lost  his  family — his  father  had 
been  shot — and  at  thirteen  was  thrown  upon  his 
own  resources  in  a  situation  that  might  well  try  the 
nerves  of  a  strong  man.  To  see  him  weeping 
silently  in  the  night,  when  he  thought  no  one  was 
looking,  gripped  the  throat  and  made  one  realize 
even  more  than  the  bodies  by  the  roadside  the  real 
tragedy  of  war.  I  knew  if  I  tried  to  console  him,  it 
would  only  humiliate  him — he  already  fancied  him- 
self a  man.  I  never  intimated  to  him  or  any  one 
that  I  had  caught  him  off  his  guard. 

Dr.  May  and  Nikola  had  had  a  great  argument 
as  to  how  far  we  should  go  next  day.  Nikola  held 
that  it  would  be  foolish  and  unnecessary  to  try  to 
reach  Medua  in  one  day,  but  Dr.  May  said  the  unit 
must  try  it.  I  think  it  was  nothing  short  of  an  in- 
spiration on  her  part.  She  had  no  reason  to  believe 
that  a  day  more  would  make  any  difference,  but  she 
held  to  her  purpose.  So  at  four  next  morning  we 
were  up  and  at  five  our  twenty-five  carts  creaked 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     429 

down  a  swampy  lane  to  the  main  road  to  begin  the 
last  day's  march — the  end  of  an  eight  weeks'  jaunt 
for  the  women,  during  which  they  had  tramped 
about  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  Full  day- 
light found  us  two  or  three  miles  on  our  way,  track- 
ing over  perfectly  level  ground  but  close  to  the 
rocky  hills  that  border  the  Bo j  ana  valley.  Moun- 
tain climbing  was  finished  for  most  of  us,  but  an 
accident  gave  three  Englishmen,  three  nurses,  and 
myself  one  more  occasion  to  test  our  Alpine 
prowess.  Quite  by  mistake  we  took  a  short-cut 
that  led  for  miles  by  mere  goat  trails  over  the 
mountains,  but  which  saved  a  long  distance. 

Several  of  us  had  pushed  ahead  of  the  carts  and 
coming  to  a  fork  in  the  road  confidently  took  the 
one  that  seemed  most  traveled,  and  led  in  the  right 
direction.  For  a  few  miles  this  continued  to  be  a 
good  road,  but  then  it  climbed  to  a  decayed  village 
where  two  thirds  of  the  houses,  at  least,  were  un- 
tenanted  and  tumbling  to  pieces.  A  little  farther 
along  it  suddenly  turned  into  a  mountain  trail. 
From  this  point  the  other  road  could  be  seen  far 
across  the  valley  below  us,  so  that  we  were  con- 
vinced that  our  path  was  a  short-cut  which  would 
lead  eventually  into  the  main  road.  The  nurses 
had  taken  a  rest  perhaps  a  mile  behind,  and  it  oc- 


430       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

curred  to  me  that  when  they  came  to  this  spot,  they 
would  be  at  a  loss  to  know  whether  to  take  the  path 
or  return  many  weary  miles  to  the  other  way.  So 
I  returned  quickly  and  brought  them  along — they 
were  asleep  under  a  tree — while  the  others  went  for- 
ward. For  hours  we  climbed  the  steep  hills  and 
wished  heartily  that  we  had  taken  the  longer  route. 
Doubts  began  to  come  and  we  found  no  trace  of  the 
Englishmen. 

We  had  no  food  with  us  and  when  in  mid-after- 
noon we  did  emerge  into  the  road  again  we  had  no 
way  of  knowing  whether  the  caravan  was  ahead  or 
behind.  However,  we  could  not  afford  to  linger, 
so  went  on  at  once  very  hungry  and  chagrined. 
One  of  the  women  was  so  dead  tired,  she  could 
scarcely  walk  at  all.  In  the  late  afternoon  we 
came  upon  some  soldiers  who  told  us  that  an  "Eng- 
leske  mission"  had  gone  past  them.  This  made  us 
want  to  push  on  all  the  faster,  but  later  we  found 
out  that  they  were  mistaken. 

At  sunset  we  came  to  the  long  bridge  across  the 
Bo j  ana  at  Alessio.  On  the  other  end  stood  the 
main  town,  and  soldiers  of  Essad  Pasha  in  out- 
landish uniforms  were  parading  up  and  down  the 
farther  half  of  the  bridge,  for  the  river  marked  the 
boundary  of  Essad's  doubtful  sway.  In  the  center 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     431 

of  the  road,  we  spied  Nikola  calmly  waiting  for  the 
caravan  to  come  along.  We  told  him  what  we  had 
done  and  he  said  we  must  be  several  hours  ahead  of 
the  main  party,  and  he  added,  as  if  it  were  nothing 
at  all,  that  San  Giovanni  di  Medua  was  just  one 
hour  of  our  walking  away.  A  steamer,  he  told  us, 
was  waiting  there  to  take  us  every  one  to  Italy! 
That  was  all  he  knew.  It  is  only  after  living  the 
life  which  I  have  tried  to  picture  in  this  account, 
only  after  doing  without  everything  that  civilization 
gives  to  make  existence  less  of  a  dog  fight,  that  one 
could  get  the  full  flavor  of  that  announcement. 
Italy  ten  hours  away!  Where  there  was  clean, 
fresh  food  in  unlimited  quantities,  where  one  could 
eat,  eat,  eat — that  is  what  we  thought  of — to  reple- 
tion, then  go  to  sleep  in  a  bed  until  time  to  eat  again, 
and  where,  oh,  dream  of  ecstasy,  one  could  have  a 
boiling  bath  in  a  gleaming  tub!  Remember  that 
for  four  months  before  the  retreat  began,  we  had 
been  living  under  what  we  then  thought  terribly 
primitive  conditions.  Add  to  this  the  swampy, 
cornfield  camps,  the  cold,  the  dirt  and  vermin,  the 
hunger,  the  limitless  and  continuous  horror,  the 
anxiety  which  a  four-months'  lack  of  any  news  had 
brought,  and  the  fear  that  the  Adriatic  would  at 
last  prove  an  insurmountable  obstacle — then  you 


432        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

can  see  what  a  steamer  waiting  to  take  us  all  to 
Italy  meant.  We  could  smell  the  sea  in  the  gentle 
wind  that  came  up  the  rough  road  to  meet  us,  and 
the  widening  river  presaged  the  beach  soon  to  come 
in  sight. 

Night  had  now  fallen,  but  an  immense  red  moon 
soon  bulged  over  the  hills  which  we  had  left  behind 
and  stood — majestic  sight — mirrored  a  hundred 
times  in  the  endless  mud  puddles  through  which  we 
splashed.  Each  of  us  strained  our  eyes  and  ears 
to  be  the  first  to  hail  the  sea.  A  small  cavalcade 
came  splashing  toward  us,  and  soon  we  were  halted 
by  a  British  officer  who,  with  his  comrades,  was  at 
Medua  seeing  to  the  landing  of  supplies  and  the 
like.  He  asked  where  the  rest  of  the  party  was 
and  upon  hearing  that  they  were  far  behind  ex- 
pressed anxiety  that  they  would  not  catch  the  boat. 
It  had  only  come  in  that  morning  and  was  sailing 
before  midnight,  so  as  to  be  somewhat  out  of  the 
torpedo  zone  by  daylight.  There  had  not  been  a 
boat  for  a  week,  and  Heaven  only  knew  when  there 
would  be  another!  This  appeared  strange  to  us, 
but  soon  we  were  to  see  for  ourselves  a  grewsome 
explanation. 

Only  a  few  minutes  after  the  officers  rode  on,  we 
came  upon  a  rocky  spur  of  hills  along  the  face  of 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      433 

which  the  rude  road  twined.  Looking  down  from 
this  point  we  discovered  immediately  beneath  us  a 
reed-grown  estuary,  so  untroubled,  like  dull-green 
glass,  that  for  a  moment  we  thought  it  simply  an 
inland  pond  until  looking  westward  we  saw  it  ex- 
pand into  a  shoreless  ocean  of  silver,  and  faintly 
we  heard  a  muffled  lapping  on  the  sand.  After  our 
three-hundred-and-fifty-mile  promenade  we  had 
come  to  the  sea,  and  how  easily  the  smooth  un- 
broken water  carried  one's  thoughts  endless  miles 
home!  Straight  ahead  only  a  little  way,  the  sparse 
lights  of  San  Giovanni  were  visible  close  by  the 
beach  and  up  on  the  cliffs  behind.  Having  passed 
two  large  army  camps,  we  came  through  a  short 
defile  to  the  little  bay.  An  even  swell  lifted  the 
water  and  sent  soft,  winding  lines  of  shining  foam 
along  the  beach,  but  the  surface  of  the  harbor  was 
smooth  and  oily  and,  at  first,  seemed  unbroken  ex- 
cept for  the  small  steamer  riding  at  anchor  two 
hundred  yards  from  shore.  Soon,  however,  we  no- 
ticed that  the  bay  was  spotted  with  funnels  and 
mast-tips  that  protruded  a  few  feet  above  the  water, 
and  a  good  deal  of  flotsam  was  strewn  along  the 
sand.  That  brightly  lighted  steamer  was  an- 
chored among  a  veritable  cemetery  of  ships,  and 
the  wrecks'  gaunt  hands  reached  up  on  every  side 


434        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

of  her.  Upon  the  white  sand  we  saw  a  giant  cigar 
glistening  moistly  in  the  moonlight  which,  on  closer 
acquaintance,  became  a  very  business-like  Austrian 
torpedo.  Failing  to  explode,  it  had  been  washed 
there  after  its  venomous  comrades  had  sent  down 
eleven  ships  within  twenty  minutes — ships  loaded 
with  food,  every  pound  of  which  would  have  saved 
a  life.  Such  had  been  the  fate  of  the  last  cargo 
brought  from  Italy  eight  days  before.  No  wonder 
boats  did  not  come  often,  no  wonder  hundreds  of 
nurses  had  been  waiting  almost  a  week  there,  not 
knowing  if  another  boat  would  ever  come.  Twelve 
hours  away  was  Brindisi,  Italy's  great  naval  base, 
but  two  hours  away  was  Cattaro  and  Austrian  sub- 
marines. 

If  ever  there  was  a  perfect  final  scene  to  any 
tragedy,  San  Giovanni  di  Medua  was  an  adequate 
finish  to  the  life  we  had  lived.  It  is  only  a  few 
stone  huts  on  the  side  of  cliffs  too  rocky  to  support 
vegetation.  There  is  a  tiny  pier  and  a  few  small 
warehouses,  a  goat-run  that  does  service  as  a  street, 
and  that  is  all.  Everybody  had  already  gone  on 
board  when  we  arrived.  Early  in  the  day  Sir 
Ralph  had  arranged  for  the  ship  to  take  all  to 
Brindisi.  In  the  late  afternoon  every  one  had  em- 
barked, so  we  found  no  one  expecting  us,  appar- 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     435 

ently.  When  Sir  Ralph  heard  we  had  arrived,  his 
secretary  came  ashore  and  told  us  where  to  get  some 
bread,  and  said  that  all  should  come  on  board  as 
soon  as  the  rest  arrived,  or  sooner,  if  the  nurses 
would.  Under  no  circumstances  could  the  boat  be 
held.  About  ten-thirty  the  carts  began  arriving 
and  the  unit  started  to  embark  without  having  had 
time  for  food,  or  scarcely  to  draw  breath.  They 
had  been  traveling  steadily  since  four  in  the  morn- 
ing and  were  nearer  dead  than  alive. 

Most  of  the  carts  soon  arrived,  but  the  one  carry- 
ing my  pictures  and  notes  did  not  come.  Finally 
all  the  others  came  in  and  I  was  told  that  this  par- 
ticular cart  had  had  a  breakdown.  It  was  then 
eleven  o'clock  and  every  one  said  that  I  should  not 
miss  the  boat  for  there  was  no  telling  when  another 
might  come.  I  was  determined,  however,  to  be  left 
rather  than  abandon  my  records  after  all  those 
weeks.  At  eleven-twenty  it  came  creaking  in.  I 
had  gone  down  the  road  to  meet  it,  and  snatching 
my  bag,  I  raced  for  a  rowboat,  jumped  in,  and  got 
on  the  ship  just  before  she  weighed  anchor. 

From  her  deck  where  there  was  only  standing 
room — almost  as  bad  as  the  Scutari  boat — we 
looked  back  at  the  pier,  black  with  a  mob  of  refugees 
who  clamored  to  get  on  the  boat  but  who,  for  rea- 


436        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

sons  I  know  not,  were  not  allowed  to.  We  had, 
perhaps,  all  we  dared  to  carry.  They  shouted 
there,  and  some  fought,  while  long  lines  of  soldiers 
carried  the  supplies,  which  the  ship  had  brought, 
from  the  shore  to  places  of  safety  on  the  hillside, 
for  at  dawn  they  feared  a  raid  by  air  and  water. 
One  line  I  especially  remember  seeing  before  I  em- 
barked. They  were  unloading  little  square  wooden 
boxes  filled  with  gold  for  the  Government.  Each 
box  held  two  hundred  thousand  francs  and  there 
was  wild  excitement  when  one  of  them  disappeared. 
Above  the  creaking  of  the  anchor-chain,  the  noise 
of  the  disappointed  mob  came  to  us,  and  in  the  half- 
light  the  restless  throngs  dotted  the  white  quays 
in  ghostly  groups,  while  the  funnels  of  the  sunken 
vessels  admonished  us  not  yet  to  be  too  sure  of  Italy. 
In  atmosphere  and  composition  the  picture  was 
Dore  at  his  weirdest.  To  leave  behind  that  army 
and  that  people  seemed  all  at  once  like  treason  and 
desertion,  and  the  knowledge  that  one  could  no 
longer  be  of  service  to  them  did  not  help  much. 

Our  boat  was  the  ill-fated  Brindisi  which  very 
soon  afterward  was  blown  up  just  outside  Medua 
harbor,  the  hundreds  of  Montenegrin  soldiers  on 
board  shooting  themselves  rather  than  die  by  the 
enemy's  hand.  Had  a  torpedo  found  us,  the  situa- 


3. 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      439 

tion  would  not  have  been  pleasant.  There  were 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  women  on  board, 
French,  Russian,  and  English,  and  hundreds  of  sick 
and  wounded  soldiers  and  civilians.  They  lay  up- 
on the  decks  so  thick  that  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  move  about  without  treading  on  them  and,  as  we 
got  into  rough  water  on  the  open  sea,  fully  nine 
tenths  of  them  became  violently  ill — a  horrible  scene 
that  even  the  moonlight  could  not  tone  down. 

How  strange  it  seemed  to  be  going  somewhere 
and  not  having  to  walk !  In  twelve  hours  we  would 
be  in  Italy.  In  that  time  we  moved  for  all  prac- 
tical purposes  a  thousand  years.  We  came  from  a 
cold,  dreary,  desolate  land,  filled  with  the  dying 
and  the  dead,  from  an  atmosphere  of  hopeless  gloom 
into  a  heaven  of  sunshine  and  golden  fruit,  where 
war  seemed  never  to  have  passed,  and  repose  and 
cleanliness  could  be  known  once  more. 

On  the  boat  I  met  the  three  nurses  whom  I  had 
not  seen  since  Ipek,  and  I  was  indeed  happy  to 
know  that  they  had  come  through  without  any 
serious  mishaps.  Their  courage  and  readiness  to 
make  the  best  of  things,  I  shall  always  remember, 
and  I  know  that  none  of  us  will  ever  forget  our 
vagabond  days  together  from  Trestenik  to  Mitro- 
vitze,  over  the  autumn  hills  and  through  the  far- 


440       WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

flung  wilderness  of  the  Ibar.  Sir  Ralph,  also,  came 
to  me  and  courteously  thanked  me  for  the  insignifi- 
cant aid  it  had  been  in  my  power  to  render  the 
nurses.  He  said  that  he  regretted  not  having  been 
able  to  aid  us  at  Mitrovitze.  He  had  had  "to  think 
of  the  greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number  and  so 
could  not  remain"  with  us.  It  was  scarcely  his 
presence  that  we  had  needed  there.  A  word  from 
the  official  representative  of  the  British  Serbian  Re- 
lief, asking  that  the  nurses  be  taken  with  the  others, 
would  have  been  more  welcome  than  his  or  any 
one's  presence  with  us  at  that  moment.  However 
as  a  lucky  chance  had  made  services  which  I  could* 
render  valuable  enough  to  "persuade  the  unit  to 
take  them  on"  and  we  were  all  right  at  last,  I  saw 
no  reason  to  pursue  the  subject.  I  still  hate  to 
think  about  what  those  women  would  have  suffered 
if,  on  the  eve  of  the  terrible  day  on  Kossovo,  shelter 
and  food  had  not  been  assured  them.  I  remarked 
that  it  had  been  a  strenuous  time  for  all  of  us  and 
Sir  Ralph  heartily  agreed.  He  told  me  that  he 
was  "worn  out  from  looking  after  the  women,"  and 
"that  I  could  have  no  idea  what  a  burden  the  care 
of  the  units  had  been"  to  him.  Subtle  humor  to 
meet  in  an  Englishman. 

The  Brindisi  steamed  in  the  center  of  a  good- 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     441 

sized  battle  squadron.  Because  of  the  valuable 
cargo  she  had  brought  to  Medua,  the  Italian  Gov- 
ernment had  furnished  a  strong  convoy.  No  sooner 
had  we  left  the  harbor  than  the  lights  of  two  boats 
appeared  to  port,  and  two  to  starboard,  while  one 
was  ahead  of  us,  and  one  behind.  They  kept  at  a 
distance  varying  from  a  quarter  to  a  half-mile. 
When  day  dawned,  we  saw  that  there  were  five 
Italian  torpedo-boat  destroyers  and  one  British 
cruiser,  the  Weymouth.  Looking  at  the  latter 
steaming  near  by  to  starboard,  dull  gray  on  the 
green  water  and  the  sunlight  picking  out  her  guns, 
one  realized  under  the  circumstances  the  beautiful 
practicability  of  a  battle  ship.  I  was  told  that  thir- 
teen more  vessels  were  around  us  and  that,  during 
the  night,  we  had  been  chased  by  submarines  which 
the  strong  convoy  had  scared  off. 

On  the  Erindisi  I  met  again  Miss  Eden,  the  head 
of  the  expedition  into  Bosnia,  where  I  had  been 
when  the  storm  was  gathering  over  Serbia.  I  had 
seen  her  faced  with  very  grave  and  trying  situa- 
tions there  which  had  been  met  in  a  manner  that 
could  only  call  forth  admiration.  Now  she  was 
very  weak  from  starvation  and  suffering,  and  could 
hardly  stand  because  of  frozen  feet,  but  she  was  al- 
ready full  of  plans  to  return  with  full  medical 


442        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

equipment  to  aid  in  the  preservation  of  that  army 
which  we  all  admired. 

It  was  about  ten-thirty  in  the  morning  when  we 
came  to  anchor  in  Brindisi  harbor.  So  much  red- 
tape  had  to  be  gone  through  that  not  until  three 
o'clock  did  we  get  on  shore  and  there  we  were  kept 
an  hour,  not  being  permitted  to  enter  the  town.  A 
string  of  police  barred  every  street  and  the  popu- 
lace came  down  to  stare  as  if  we  had  been  a  circus. 
There  was  no  food  on  the  boat  and  most  of  our  unit 
had  been  without  anything  since  early  morning  of 
the  preceding  day — this,  too,  when  they  had  made 
that  long  forced  march.  No  food  was  brought  to 
us  and  we  were  not  allowed  to  go  in  search  of  any. 
From  ten-thirty  in  the  morning  to  four  in  the  after- 
noon we  could  even  smell  the  bakeries,  but  had  to 
wait.  Finally  Sir  Ralph  arranged  for  a  special 
train  to  take  the  whole  party  straight  to  Milan,  and 
thence  to  Paris  and  London.  It  was  the  eighteenth 
of  December — the  nurses  would  get  home  for 
Christmas. 

We  were  led  in  a  gang  to  the  station  about  an 
hour  before  the  train  started,  and  our  rush  on  the 
station  restaurant  was  a  sight  to  see.  Imagine 
what  piles  of  oranges,  grapes,  apples,  and  bananas 
looked  like  to  starving  people  who  had  seen  noth- 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     443 

ing  decent  to  eat  for  months ;  picture  the  seductive- 
ness of  lunch-counter  sausages  and  boxes  of  sweets 
and  dried  fruits;  think  for  an  instant  of  tall  cold 
glasses  of  creamy  beer  and  delicious  light  wines,  and 
put  down  into  the  midst  of  it  all  three  hundred 
famished  people.  When  the  train  came,  for  the. 
moment  the  restaurant  had  become  a  restaurant  in 
name  only. 

Enough  coaches  had  not  been  procured  to  afford 
seats  for  more  than  two  thirds  of  the  party,  but 
that  mattered  little  to  us.  On  board  the  Milan 
Express  a  weariness  which  even  the  excitement  of 
going  home  could  not  conquer  came  over  us  all. 
We  lay  down  on  the  corridor  floors,  in  the  vesti- 
bules, under  the  seats.  Wrapped  for  the  last  time 
in  our  soldier-blankets,  we  roughed  it  one  more 
night  in  the  midst  of  civilization.  It  is  indicative 
of  my  mental  state  that  I  took  it  for  granted  the 
train  was  going  to  Rome,  and  thence  to  Milan.  I 
intended  to  stop  in  Rome.  It  never  occurred  to 
me  to  ask,  so  when  a  lot  of  people  stumbled  over  me 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  as  I  lay  directly  in  the 
entrance,  and  I  distinguished  shouts  about  changing 
for  Rome  I  was  appalled.  I  did  not  know  whether 
we  had  passed  the  junction,  or  if  that  were  it.  My 
movements  were  merely  reflex — due  in  part  to  what 


444        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

had  happened  in  that  restaurant — and  I  tumbled 
out  of  a  window  when  I  could  not  open  the  door, 
and  sat  upon  my  bag  between  some  tracks,  where  I 
immediately  fell  asleep  again.  The  feeling  of  ab- 
solute indifference  as  to  what  under  the  sun  became 
of  me  was  delicious.  One  train  was  as  good  as  an- 
other to  me,  so  I  climbed  on  the  first  one  that  woke 
me  up  without  worrying  to  make  any  inquiry.  It 
happened  to  be  a  third-class  train  full  of  troops  re- 
turning from  the  front  on  Christmas  furlough. 
Some  of  them  spoke  English  and  they  all  imme- 
diately concluded  that  I  was  starving  and  penni- 
less. I  shall  not  soon  forget  their  generous,  whole- 
hearted proffers  of  food  and  even  money!  When 
the  guard  came  through  and  had  the  hardihood  to 
ask  me  if  I  had  a  ticket  or  a  pass  they  almost 
mobbed  him.  These  soldiers  were  magnificently 
equipped  and  looked  so  well-cared  for  and  happy, 
they  made  all  the  more  startling  the  contrast  with 
that  other  tortured  army  less  than  twenty-four 
hours  away. 

It  would  take  many  pages  to  record  the  sensa- 
tions which  I  underwent  on  coming  back  to  Rome 
and — a  bath!  I  cannot  even  enumerate  the  kind- 
nesses which  were  extended  to  me  as  a  "refugee," 
especially  by  the  charming  English  people  and  their 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME      445 

friends  in  the  hotel  where  I  stopped.  The  trip 
from  Albania  had  been  so  rapid  that  I  found  my- 
self wondering  if  I  were  not  blissfully  dreaming  in 
some  mountain  hut.  Thirty-six  hours  from  the 
time  that  I  was  slopping  through  mire  up  to  my 
knees  in  a  heavy  downpour,  suffering  from  hunger 
and  fatigue,  with  no  idea  when  I  might  get  away 
from  that  horror-stricken  land,  I  was  luxuriously 
feeding  (I  did  not  lunch  or  dine,  I  fed  those  first 
few  days)  in  a  perfectly  appointed  Rome  hotel  with 
kind  people  to  talk  to — even  though  I  had  no  shoes! 
I  had  arrived  on  the  nineteenth  of  December,  ex- 
actly two  months  after  I  had  boarded  the  train  at 
Valjevo  with  the  Christitch  party  to  begin  the 
Great  Retreat. 

Of  those  days  following  my  arrival  I  have  no 
notes  and  a  very  clouded  memory.  Just  as  people 
still  feel  the  swaying  decks  beneath  them  after 
landing  from  a  long  voyage,  my  mind  was  still  in 
a  state  of  retreat.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  for 
a  few  days  I  continued  to  live  the  refugee  life  and 
seldom  ceased  to  feel  the  cold  of  Kossovo,  the 
hunger  of  Prizrend,  the  despair  of  the  mountains. 
The  very  food  that  I  ate  sometimes  seemed  like 
murder  when  I  thought  of  the  dead  at  Scutari. 

I  wish  I  could  comprehend  and  record  the  feel- 


446        WITH  SERBIA  INTO  EXILE 

ings  of  the  men  at  Corfu  and  Vido  to-day.  Sit- 
ting around  the  dinner  table  on  Christmas  evening 
— for  my  new  friends'  hospitality  had  extended  so 
far — one  of  them  asked,  "What  of  the  soldier  of 
the  line?  Does  he  still  think  that  the  game  is 
worth  the  candle?" 

My  mind  went  back  to  a  dark  freezing  dawn  near 
Prizrend  when  by  the  road  side  I  had  found  a  man. 
He  lay  on  a  pile  of  soaking,  rotten  straw  under 
an  old  cow-shed  carpeted  with  filth,  and  he  was 
wounded.  A  miserable  fire  smoldered  beside  him 
— a  fire  that  might  outlast  him.  To  my  surprise 
he  spoke  a  little  English  and  we  discussed  common- 
places, as  is  the  way  in  desperate  circumstances. 
Very  near,  the  Serbian  and  enemy  guns  were  boom- 
ing in  a  lively  duel. 

"How  far  away  are  those  guns?"  I  asked,  ex- 
pecting him  to  answer  "an  hour,"  or  "a  half -hour," 
as  is  the  Serbian  custom.  But  with  difficulty,  he 
rose  on  his  elbow  and  looking  somewhere  beyond  me 
he  said: 

"Maybe  they  are  a  hundred  years  nearer  than 
they  were  four  weeks  ago,  but  not  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years !" 

Not  more  than  a  hundred  years,  if  any  Serb  be 
left  to  drive  them  out ;  and  what  is  a  hundred  years 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SHIP  CAME     447 

to  a  nation  that  has  not  lost  its  individuality  through 
"five  hundred  years  of  durance"? 

"They  do  not  count  the  cost,"  I  answered. 
"They  are  not  made  that  way.  They  only  fight 
and  hope." 

As  I  recall  it  now,  that  seems  to  me  the  best 
epitome  I  can  give  of  the  Serbian  people.  For 
five  centuries  they  have  unflinchingly  fought  and 
hoped.  To  all  who  have  intimately  known  them, 
their  present  misfortune  is  as  the  keenest  personal 
sorrow.  For  if  a  calm  and  dignified  spirit  under 
the  dreariest  of  skies,  if  unfaltering  and  unquench- 
able patriotism  under  tests  that  may  well  be  styled 
supreme,  if  splendid  bravery,  and  endurance  that 
passes  understanding,  if  simple  immovable  faith  in 
a  great  and  simple  liberty,  if  deathless  devotion  to 
what  one  conceives  as  right  and  honorable,  be  any 
longer  of  use  in  the  world,  the  land  of  Serbia  and 
the  national  soul  of  the  Serbs  is  worth  preserving. 
They  have  a  bright  destiny  to  which  the  vast  re- 
sources of  their  beautiful  country  and  the  blood  of 
their  innumerable  heroes  entitle  them,  and  they 
will  be  allowed  to  work  it  out.  This  at  any  rate  is 
what  the  Retreat  taught  me  so  clearly  that  never 
again  will  I  doubt  it. 

THE  END 


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